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Little  Classics. 


"  A  series  of  exquisitely  printed  little  volumes  in  flexible 
binding  and  red  edges,  ■which  gather  up  the  'very  choicest 
things  in  our  literature  in  the  -way  of  short  tales  and  sketches." 
—  Buffalo  Courier.  

The  Prose  Series  inclndes  12  volnmes, 
as  follows: 

ROMANCE. 


EXILE. 
INTELLECT. 
TRAGEDY. 
LIFE. 

LAUGHTER. 
LOVE.  1         FORTUNE. 

Tastefully  bound.    Price,  $1.00  each. 


MYSTERY. 
COMEDY. 
CHILDHOOD. 
HEROISM. 


"  No  more  delightful  reading  can  be  conceived  tlian  the  pol- 
ished and  attractive  papers  tliat  are  selected  for  this  series,  — 
Boston  Gazette. 

"  Too  much  praise  cannot  be  accorded  the  projectors  of  this 
work.  It  lays,  for  a  very  small  sum,  the  cream  of  the  best 
writers  before  the  reader  of  aver.ige  means  It  usually  happens 
that  very  few,  except  professional  people  and  scholars,  care  to 
read  all  that  even  the  most  famous  men  nave  written.  They  want 
his  best  work, — the  one  people  talk  most  about,  —  and  when 
they  have  read  that  they  are  satisfied."  —  A'. )'.  Commercial  Adv. 


•»•  For  sale  by  Booksellers.    Sent,  pos'paid,  on  receipt  of 
prict  by  the  Publishers, 

JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO.,  Boston. 


fi'intl)  130  lame. 


Little  Classics, 


EDITED    BY 


ROSSITER  JOHNSON. 


COMEDY. 


BARNY    O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIQATOR. — HAOOAD-BEN-AHAB   THE   TRAVELLER. 

BLUEBEARD'S     GHOST.  —  THE    PICNIC    PARTY.  —  FATHER    TOM 

AND    THE     POPE.  —  JOHNNY     OARBYSHIRE.  —  THE 

GRIDIRON. — THE   BOX    TUNNEL. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknor  &  Fields,  and  Fields,  Osgood,  &  Co. 
1875- 


CoFraiGHT,  1876. 
By  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO. 


Ukivbrsitv  Press:  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge. 


CONTENTS. 

Pagk 

BaRNY  O'ReIRDON  the   Navigator      Samuel  Lover   .      .  7 

Haddad-Ben-Ahab  THE  Traveller    JuhnGalt.     .     .  58 

Bluebeard's  Ghost »>«.  m.  Tlmckermj  67 

The  Picnic  Party Horace  Smiih  .    .  102 

P'aTHER  Tom   and  the   Pope      .      .      Samuel  Fergmon    .  131 

Johnny  Darbyshire William  Howitl    .  108 

The  Gridiron Samuel  Later  .     .  206 

The  Box  Tunnel Charles  Ilea Je .     .  217 


BARNY  (yREIRDON  THE  NAVIGATOR. 

BY  SAMUEL  LOVER. 


I. 


OUTWARD   BOUND. 


ARNY  O'REIRDON  was  a  fisherman  of  Kin- 
sale,  and  a  heartier  fellow  never  hauled  a  net 
nor  cast  a  line  into  deep  water :  indeed  Barny, 
independently  of  being  a  merry  boy  among  his  compan- 
ions, a  lover  of  good  fun  and  good  whiskey,  was  looked 
up  to,  rather,  by  his  brother  fishermen,  as  an  intelligent 
fellow,  and  few  boats  brought  more  fish  to  market  than 
Bamy  O'Reirdou's ;  his  opinion  on  certain  points  in  the 
craft  was  considered  law,  and  in  short,  in  his  own  little 
community,  Baniy  was  what  is  commonly  called  a  lead- 
ing man.  Now  your  leading  man  is  always  jealous  in  an 
inverse  ratio  to  the  sphere  of  his  influence,  and  the  leader 
of  a  nation  is  less  incensed  at  a  rival's  triumph  than  the 
great  man  of  a  village.  If  we  pursue  this  descending 
scale,  what  a  desperately  jealous  person  the  oracle  of 
oyster-dredges  and  cockle-women  must  be !  Such  was 
Bamy  O'Reirdon. 


8  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Seated  one  night  at  a  public  house,  the  common  resort 
of  Barny  and  other  marine  curiosities,  our  hero  got  en- 
tangled in  debate  with  what  he  culled  a  strange  sail,  — 
that  is  to  say,  a  man  he  had  never  met  before,  and  whom 
he  was  inchned  to  treat  rather  magisterially  upon  nauti- 
cal subjects ;  at  the  same  time  the  stranger  was  equally 
inclined  to  assume  the  liigh  hand  over  him,  till  at  last 
the  new-comer  made  a  regular  outbreak  by  exclaimhig, 
"  Ah,  tare-and-ouns,  lave  aif  your  balderdash,  Mr. 
O'Reirdon,  by  the  powdhers  o'  war  it 's  enough,  so  it 
is,  to  make  a  dog  bate  his  father,  to  hear  you  goin'  an  as 
if  you  war  Curlumberus  or  Sir  Crus(yi)hiz  Wran,  when 
ivcry  one  knows  the  divil  a  farther  you  iver  war  nor 
kelchiu  crabs  or  dnidgen  oysters." 

"Who  towld  you  that,  my  Watherford  Wondher?" 
rejoined  Barny;  "what  the  dickens  do  you  know  about 
sayfarin'  farther  nor  fishin'  for  sprats  in  a  bowl  wid  your 
grandmother?  " 

"  O,  bailhershin,"  says  the  stranger. 

"And  who  made  you  so  bowld  with  my  name?"  de- 
manded O'Reirdon. 

"  No  matther  for  that,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  but  if 
you'd  like  for  to  know,  shure  it's  your  own  cousin 
Molly  MuUins  knows  me  well,  and  maybe  I  don't  know 
you  and  yours  as  well  as  the  mother  that  bore  you,  aye, 
in  throth;  and  sure  I  know  the  very  thoughts  o'  you  as 
well  as  if  I  was  inside  o'  you,  Barny  O'Reirdon." 

"  By  my  sowl  thin,  you  know  betther  thoughts  than 
your  own,  Mr.  Whipperanapper,  if  that 's  the  name  you 

"  No,  it 's  not  the  name  I  go  by ;  I  've  as  good  a  name 


BARNY   O'KEIRDON   THE   NAVIGATOR.  9 

as  your  own,  Mr.  O'Reirdon,  for  want  of  a  betther,  and 
that 's  O'Sullivan." 

"  Throth  there  's  more  than  there  's  good  o'  them," 
said  Baniy. 

"  Good  or  bad,  I  'm  a  cousin  o'  your  own  twice  re- 
moved by  the  mother's  side." 

"  And  is  it  the  Widda  O'Sullivan's  boy  you  'd  be  that 
left  this  come  Candlemas  four  years  ?  " 

"  The  same." 

"  Throth  thin  you  might  know  better  manners  to  your 
eldhers,  though  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  anyhow,  agin  ;  but 
a  little  thravellin'  puts  us  beyant  ourselves  sometimes," 
said  Barny,  rather  contemptuously. 

"  Throth  I  nivir  bragged  out  o'  myself  yit,  and  it 's 
what  I  say,  that  a  man  that's  only  fishin'  aff  the  laud  all 
his  life  has  no  business  to  compare  iu  the  regard  o* 
thracthericks  wid  a  man  tliat  has  sailed  to  Fingal." 

This  silenced  any  further  argument  on  Barny's  part. 
Wliere  Fingal  lay  was  all  Greek  to  Mm  ;  but,  unwilling 
to  admit  his  ignorance,  he  covered  his  retreat  with  the 
usual  address  of  his  countrymen,  and  turned  the  bitter- 
ness of  debate  into  the  cordial  flow  of  congratulation  at 
seeing  his  cousin  again. 

The  liquor  was  fi^quently  circulated,  and  the  conver- 
sation began  to  take  a  different  turn,  in  order  to  lead 
from  that  which  had  very  nearly  ended  in  a  quarrel  be- 
tween O'Reirdon  and  his  relation. 

The  state  of  the  crops,  county  cess,  road  jobs,  etc.,  be- 
came topics,  and  various  strictures  as  to  the  utility  of  the 
latter  were  indulged  in,  while  the  merits  of  the  neighbor- 
ing farmers  were  canvassed. 
1* 


10  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Wliy  thin,"  said  one,  "  that  field  o'  whate  o'  Michael 
Coghlan  is  the  finest  field  o'whate  niortial  eyes  was  ever  set 
upon,  —  divil  the  likes  iv  it  myself  ever  seen  far  or  near." 

"  Throth  thin  sure  enough,"  said  another,  "  it  prom- 
ises to  be  a  fine  crap  anyhow,  and  myself  can't  help 
thinkin'  it  quare  that  Mikee  Coghlan,  that's  a  plain- 
spoken,  quite  (quiet)  man,  and  simple  like,  should  have 
finer  craps  than  Pether  Kelly  o'  the  big  farm  beyant, 
that  knows  all  about  the  great  saycrets  o'  the  airth,  and 
is  knowledgeable  to  a  degree,  and  has  all  the  hard  words 
that  iver  was  coined  at  his  fingers'  ends." 

"  Faith,  he  has  a  power  o'  blasthogue  about  him  sure 
enough,"  said  the  former  speaker,  "  if  that  could  do  him 
any  good,  but  he  is  n't  fit  to  hould  a  candle  to  Michael 
Coghlan  in  the  regard  o'  farmin'." 

"  Why  blur  and  agers,"  rejoined  the  upholder  of  sci- 
ence, "  sure  he  met  the  Scotch  steward  that  the  lord 
beyant  has,  one  day,  that  I  hear  is  a  wondherful  edicated 
man,  and  was  brought  over  here  to  show  us  all  a  pat- 
them,  —  well,  Pether  Kelly  met  him  one  day,  and,  by 
gor,  he  discoorsed  him  to  a  degree  that  the  Scotch  chap 
bad  n't  a  word  left  in  his  jaw." 

"  Well,  and  what  was  he  tlie  betther  o'  having  more 
prate  than  a  Scotchman  ?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  Why,"  answered  Kelly's  friend,  "  I  think  it  stands 
to  rayson  that  the  man  that  done  out  the  Scotch  steward 
ought  to  know  somethin'  moi'e  about  farmin'  than  Mikee 
Coghlan." 

"Augh!  don't  talk  to  me  about  knowing,"  said  the 
other,  rather  contemptuously.  "Sure  I  gcv  in  to  you 
that  he  has  a  power  o'  prate,  and  the  gift  o'  the  gab. 


BARNY   O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  11 

aud  all  to  that.  I  own  to  you  that  he  has  tJie-o-ry,  and 
che-mis-thery,  but  he  has  u't  the  craps.  Now,  the  man 
that  has  the  craps  is  the  man  for  my  money." 

"  Yoii  're  right,  my  boy,"  said  O'Reirdon,  with  au 
approving  thump  of  his  brawny  fist  upon  the  table, 
"  it 's  a  little  talk  goes  far,  —  doirC  is  the  thing." 

"Ah,  yiz  may  run  down  larniu'  if  yiz  like,"  said  the 
undismayed  stickler  for  theory  versus  practice,  "but 
larnin'  is  a  fine  thing,  and  sure  whei'e  would  the  world 
be  at  all  only  for  it,  sure  where  would  the  staymers 
(steamboats)  be,  only  for  larnin'  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  O'Reirdon,  "and  the  divil  may  care  if 
we  never  seen  them ;  I  'd  rather  depind  au  wind  and 
canvas  any  day  than  the  likes  o'  them !  What  are  they 
good  for,  but  to  turn  good  sailors  into  kitchen-maids, 
bilin'  a  big  pot  o'  wather  and  oilin'  their  fire-irons,  and 
throwin'  coals  an  the  fire  ?  Augh  ?  thim  staymers  is  a 
disgrace  to  the  say ;  they  're  for  all  the  world  like  old 
fogies,  smokin'  from  mornin'  till  night  and  doin'  no  good." 

"  Do  you  call  it  doin'  no  good  to  go  fasther  nor  ships 
iver  wint  before  ?  " 

"Pooh;  sure  Solomon,  queen  o'  Sheba,  said  there 
was  time  enough  for  all  things." 

"Thrue  for  you,"  said  O'Sullivan,  "fair  and  aisy  goes 
far  in  a  day,  is  a  good  ould  sayin'." 

"  Well,  maybe  you  '11  own  to  the  improvement  they  're 
makin'  in  the  harbor  o'  Howth,  beyant,  in  Dublin,  is 
some  good." 

"  We  '11  see  whether  it  '11  be  an  improvement  first," 
said  the  obdurate  O'Reirdon. 

"  Why,  man  alive,  sure  you  '11  own  it 's  the  greatest 


12  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

o'  good  it  is,  takiu'  up  the  big  rocks  out  o'  tlic  bottom 
o'  the  liarbor." 

"  Well,  an'  where  's  the  -wondher  o'  that  ?  sure  we 
done  tiie  same  here." 

"O  yis,  but  it  was  whin  the  tide  was  out  and  the 
rocks  was  bare ;  but  up  at  Howth,  they  cut  away  the 
big  rocks  from  undher  the  say  intirely." 

"  O,  be  aisy ;  why  how  could  they  do  that  ?  " 

"  Aye,  there  's  the  matther,  that 's  what  larnin'  can 
do ;  and  wondherful  it  is  intirely !  and  the  way  it  is,  is 
this,  as  I  hear  it,  for  I  never  seen  it,  but  heerd  it  de- 
scribed by  the  lord  to  some  gintlemin  and  ladies  one 
day  in  his  garden  where  I  was  hclpin'  the  gardener  to 
land  some  salary  (celery).  You  see  the  ingineer  goes 
down  undher  the  wather  intirely,  and  can  stay  there  as 
long  as  he  j)lazes." 

"  Whoo  !  and  what  o'  that  ?  Sure  I  heered  the  long 
sailor  say,  that  come  from  the  Aystern  Injees,  that  the 
ingineers  there  can  a'most  live  under  wather ;  and  goes 
down  looking  for  diamonds,  and  has  a  sledge-hammer 
in  their  hand,  brakiu'  the  diamonds  when  they  're  too 
big  to  take  them  up  whole,  all  as  one  as  men  brakin' 
stones  an  the  road." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  go  beyant  that ;  but  the  way 
the  lord's  ingineer  goes  down  is,  he  has  a  little  bell  wid 
him,  and  while  he  has  that  little  bell  to  ring,  hurt  nor 
harm  can't  come  to  him." 

"  Arrah  Ijc  aisy." 

"  Divil  a  lie  in  it." 

"  Maybe  it 's  a  blissed  bell,"  said  O'Reirdon,  crossing 
himself. 


BARNY    O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  13 

"No,  it  is  not  a  blisssd  bell." 

"  Why  thill  aow  do  you  think  me  sich  a  bom  nathral 
as  to  give  in  to  that  ?  as  if  the  ringin'  iv  the  bell,  barrin' 
it  was  a  blissed  bell,  could  do  the  like.  I  teU  you  it 's 
impossible." 

"  Ah,  nothin'  's  unpossible  to  God." 

"  Sure  I  was  n't  denyiu'  that ;  but  I  say  the  bell  is 
unpossible." 

"  Why,"  said  O'Sullivan,  "  you  see  he 's  not  alto- 
gether complete  in  the  demonstheratiou  o'  the  mashine ; 
it  is  not  by  the  ringin'  o'  the  bell  it  is  done,  but  — " 

"  But  what  ?  "  broke  in  O'lleirdon  impatiently.  "  Do 
you  maue  for  to  say  there  is  a  bell  in  it  at  all  at  all  ?  " 

"  Yis,  I  do,"  said  O'Sullivan. 

"  I  towld  you  so,"  said  the  promulgator  of  the  story. 

"Aye,"  said  O'SulUvan,  "but  it  is  not  by  the  ringin* 
iv  the  bell  it  is  done." 

"  Well,  how  is  it  done  then  ?  "  said  the  other,  with  a 
half-offended,  half-supercilious  air. 

"It  is  done,"  said  O'Sullivan,  as  he  returned  the  look 
with  interest,  —  "  it  is  done  entirely  by  jommethry." 

"  Oh !  I  understan'  it  now,"  said  O'Reirdon,  with  an 
inimitable  affectation  of  comprehension  in  the  Oh !  — 
"but  to  talk  of  the  ringin'  iv  a  bell  doin'  the  like  is 
beyant  the  beyants  intirely,  barrin',  as  I  said  before,  it 
was  a  blissed  bell,  glory  be  to  God !  " 

"And  so  you  tell  me,  sir,  it  is  jommethry,"  said  the 
twice-discomfited  man  of  science. 

"  Yis,  sir,"  said  O'Sullivan  with  an  air  of  triumph, 
which  rose  in  proportion  as  he  carried  the  listeners 
along  with  him,  —  "jommethry." 


14  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  There  's  them  that 
won't  hear  rayson  sometimes,  nor  have  belief  in  lamin' ; 
and  you  may  say  it 's  jomraethry  if  you  plaze ;  but  1 
heerd  them  that  knows  betther  than  iver  you  knew 
say  —  " 

"  Whisht,  whisht !  and  bad  cess  to  you  both,"  said 
O'Reirdon,  "what  the  dickens  are  yiz  goia'  to  fight 
about  now,  and  sich  good  hquor  before  yiz  ?  Hillo ! 
there,  Mrs.  Quigley,  bring  uz  another  quart  i'  you  plaze ; 
aye,  that 's  the  chat,  another  quart.  Augh !  yiz  may 
talk  till  yo're  black  in  the  face  about  your  invintions, 
and  your  staymers,  and  bell  ringin'  and  gash,  and  rail- 
roads ;  but  here  's  long  life  and  success  to  the  man  that 
invinted  the  impairil  (imperial)  quart ;  that  was  the  rail 
beautiful  invintion."  And  he  took  a  long  pull  at  tlie 
replenished  vessel,  which  strongly  indicated  that  the  in- 
crease of  its  dimensions  was  a  very  agreeable  measure 
to  such  as  Bamy. 

After  the  introduction  of  this  and  other  quarts,  it  would 
not  be  an  easy  matter  to  pursue  the  conversation  that 
followed.  Let  us,  therefore,  transfer  our  story  to  the 
succeeding  morning,  when  Bamy  O'Reirdon  stroUed 
forth  from  liis  cottage,  rather  later  than  usual,  with 
his  eyes  bearing  ei/e  witness  to  the  carouse  of  the  pre- 
ceding night.  He  had  not  a  headache,  however; 
whether  it  was  that  Bamy  was  too  experienced  a  cam- 
paigner under  the  banners  of  Bacchus,  or  that  Mrs. 
Quiglcy's  boast  was  a  just  one,  namely,  "that  of  all 
the  drink  in  her  house,  there  was  'nt  a  headache  in  a 
hogshead  of  it,"  is  hard  to  determine,  but  I  rather 
incline  to  the  strength  of  Barny's  head. 


BARNY    O'REIRDOX    THE    NAVIGATOR.  15 

Barny  samitered  about  in  the  suu,  at  which  he  oftea 
looked  up,  under  the  shelter  of  compressed  bushy  brows 
and  long-lashed  eyelids,  and  a  shadowing  hand  across  his 
forehead,  to  see  "what  o'  day"  it  was;  and,  from  the 
frequency  of  this  action,  it  was  evident  the  day  was 
hanging  heavily  with  Barny.  He  retired  at  last  to  a 
sunny  nook  in  a  neighboring  field,  and  stretching  him- 
self at  full  length,  basked  in  the  sun,  and  began  "to 
chew  the  cud  of  sweet  and  bitter  thought."  He  first 
reflected  on  his  own  undoubted  weight  in  his  little  com- 
munity, but  still  he  could  not  get  over  the  annoyance 
of  the  preceding  night,  arising  from  his  being  silenced 
by  O'SuUivan ;  "  a  chap,"  .as  he  said  himself,  "  that  lift 
the  place  four  years  agon  a  brat  iv  a  boy,  and  to  think 
iv  his  corain'  back  and  outdoin'  his  elders,  that  saw  liim 
runnin'  about  the  plac3,  a  gassoon,  tliat  one  could  tache 
a  few  months  before  "  ;  't  was  too  bad.  Barny  saw  his 
reputation  was  in  a  ticklish  position,  and  began  to  con- 
sider how  his  disgrace  could  be  retrieved.  The  very 
name  of  Fingal  was  hateful  to  him;  it  was  a  plague- 
spot  on  his  peace  that  festered  there  incurably.  He 
first  thought  of  leaving  Kinsale  altogether;  but  flight 
implied  so  much  of  defeat,  that  he  did  not  long  indulge 
in  that  notion.  No ;  he  would  stay,  "  in  spite  of  all  the 
O'SuUivans,  kith  and  kin,  breed,  seed,  and  generation." 
But  at  the  same  time  he  knew  he  should  never  hear  the 
end  of  that  hateful  place,  Fingal ;  and  if  Barny  had  had 
the  power,  he  would  have  enacted  a  penal  statute,  mak- 
ing it  death  to  name  the  accursed  spot,  wherever  it  was; 
but  not  being  gifted  with  such  legislative  authority,  he 
felt  Kinsale  was  no  place  for  him,  if  he  would  not  sub- 


16  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

mit  to  be  flouted  every  hour  out  of  the  four-aud- twenty, 
by  mau,  wouiaii,  aud  child,  that  wished  to  auuoy  him. 
Wliat  was  to  be  done  ?  He  was  in  the  perplexing  situa- 
tion, to  use  his  own  words,  "  of  the  cat  in  the  thripe 
shop,"  he  did  n't  know  which  way  to  choose.  At  last, 
after  turning  himself  over  in  the  sun  several  times,  a 
new  idea  struck  him.  Could  n't  he  go  to  Tingal  him- 
self? and  then  he  'd  be  equal  to  that  upstart,  O'Sullivan. 
No  sooner  was  the  thought  engendered,  than  Baruy 
sprang  to  his  feet  a  new  man;  his  eye  brightened,  his 
step  became  once  more  elastic,  ^ — he  walked  erect,  and 
felt  himself  to  be  all  over  Barny  O'lleirdou  once  more. 
"  Richard  was  himself  again." 

But  where  AVas  Eingal  ?  —  there  was  the  rub.  That 
was  a  profound  mystery  to  Baruy,  which,  until  discov- 
ered, must  hold  him  in  the  vile  bondage  of  inferiority. 
The  plain-dealing  reader  M^ould  say,  "  Could  n't  he  ask  ? " 
No,  no ;  that  would  never  do  for  Barny :  that  would 
be  an  open  admission  of  ignorance  his  soul  was  above, 
and  consequently  Barny  set  his  brains  to  work  to  devise 
measures  of  coming  at  the  hidden  knowledge  by  some 
circuitous  route,  that  would  not  betray  the  end  he  was 
working  for.  To  this  purpose,  fifty  stratagems  were 
raised,  and  demolished  in  half  as  many  minutes,  in  the 
fertile  brain  of  Barny,  as  he  strided  along  the  shore ;  and 
as  he  was  working  hard  at  the  fifty-first,  it  was  knocked 
all  to  pieces  by  his  jostling  against  some  one  wliom  he 
never  perceived  he  was  approaching,  so  iunnersed  was 
he  in  his  speculations,  and  on  looking  up,  who  should 
it  prove  to  be  but  his  friend  "  the  long  sailor  from  the 
Aystem  Injees."    This  was  quite  a  godsend  to  Baray, 


BARNY    O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  17 

and  much  beyond  what  lie  could  have  hoped  for.  Of 
all  men  under  the  suu,  the  long  sailor  was  the  man  in  a 
million  for  Baniy's  net  at  that  minute,  and  accordingly 
he  made  a  haul  of  him,  and  thought  it  the  greatest  catch 
he  ever  made  in  his  life. 

Barny  and  the  long  sailor  were  in  close  companionship 
for  tha  remainder  of  the  day,  wliich  was  closed,  as  the 
preceding  one,  in  a  carouse ;  but  on  this  occasion  there 
was  only  a  duet  performance  in  honor  of  the  jolly  god, 
and  the  treat  was  at  Barny's  expense.  What  the  nature 
of  their  conversation  during  the  period  was,  I  will  not 
dilate  on,  but  keep  it  as  profound  a  secret  as  Barny 
himself  did,  and  content  myself  with  saying,  that  Barny 
looked  a  much  happier  man  the  next  day.  Instead  of 
wearing  his  hat  slouclied,  and  casting  his  eyes  on  the 
ground,  he  walked  about  with  his  iisual  unconcern,  and 
gave  his  nod  and  the  passing  word  of  cioililiide  to  every 
friend  he  met;  he  rolled  his  quid  of  tobacco  about  in 
his  jaw  with  an  air  of  superior  enjoyment,  and  if  dis- 
turbed in  his  narcotic  amusement  by  a  question,  he  took 
his  own  time  to  eject  "the  leperous  distilment"  before 
he  answered  the  querist,  —  a  happy  composure,  that  be- 
spoke  a  man  quite  at  ease  with  himself.  It  was  in  this 
agreeable  spirit  that  Barny  bent  his  course  to  the  house 
of  Peter  Kelly,  the  owner  of  the  "  big  farm  beyant,"  be- 
fore alluded  to,  in  order  to  put  in  practice  a  plan  he  had 
formed  for  the  fulfilment  of  his  determmation  of  rivalling 
O'Suliivan. 

lie  thought  it  probable  that  Peter  Kelly,  being  one 
of  the  "snuggest"  men  in  the  neighborhood,  would  be 
a  likely  person  to  join  hiin  in  a  "  spec,"  as  he  called  it 

B 


18  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

(a  favorite  abbreviation  of  his  for  the  word  "specula- 
tion "),  and  accordingly,  when  he  reached  the  "  big-farm 
house,"  he  accosted  the  owner  with  his  usual  "God 
save  you." 

"  God  save  you  kindly,  Barny,"  returned  Peter  Kelly ; 
"an'  what  is  it  brings  you  here,  Barny,"  asked  Peter, 
"  tliis  fine  day,  instead  o'  being  out  in  the  boat  ?  " 

"  O,  I  '11  be  out  in  the  boat  soon  enough,  and  it 's  far 
enougli  too  I  'U  be  in  her ;  an'  indeed  it 's  partly  that 
same  is  bringin'  me  here  to  yourself." 

"Why,  do  you  want  me  to  go  along  wid  you,  Bar- 
ny?" 

"  Troth  an'  I  don't,  Mr.  Kelly.  You  're  a  knowledge- 
able man  an  land,  but  1  'm  afeared  it 's  a  bad  bargain 
you  'd  be  at  say." 

"  And  what  wor  you  talking  about  me  and  your  boat 
for?" 

"Why,  you  see,  sir,  it  was  in  the  regard  of  a  little 
bit  o'  business,  an'  if  you  'd  come  wid  me  and  take  a 
turn  in  the  praty-field,  I  '11  be  bchouldin'  to  you,  and 
maybe  you  '11  hear  somethin'  that  won't  be  dieplazin' 
to  you." 

"  An'  welkim,  Barny,"  said  Peter  Kelly. 

When  Barny  and  Peter  were  in  the  "praty-field," 
Barny  opened  the  trenches  (I  don't  mean  the  ])otato 
trenches),  but,  in  military  parlance,  he  opened  the 
trenches  and  laid  siege  to  Peter  Kelly,  setting  fortii 
the  extensive  profits  that  had  been  realized  at  various 
"specs"  that  had  been  made  by  his  neighbors  in  ex- 
porting potatoes.  "And  sure,"  said  Barny,  "why 
should  n't  you  do  the  same,  and  they  are  ready  to  your 


BARNY    O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.         19 

hand?  as  much  as  to  say,  why  don't  you  profit  by  me, 
Peter  Kelly  i*  And  the  boat  is  below  there  in  the  har- 
bor, and,  1  '11  say  this  much,  the  divil  a  betther  boat  is 
betuue  this  and  herself." 

"  Indeed,  I  b'lieve  so,  Baruy,"  said  Peter,  "  for  con- 
sidhering  where  we  stand,  at  this  present,  there 's  no 
boat  at  all  at  all  betune  us."  And  Peter  laughed  with 
infinite  pleasure  at  his  own  hit. 

"0,  well,  you  know  what  I  mane,  anyhow,  an',  as 
I  said  before,  the  boat  is  a  darliut  boat,  and  as  for  him 
that  commands  her  —  I  b'lieve  I  need  say  nothin'  about 
that."  And  Barny  gave  a  toss  of  his  head  and  a  sweep 
of  his  open  hand,  more  than  doubling  the  laudatory 
nature  of  his  comment  on  himself. 

But,  as  the  Irish  saying  is,  "to  make  a  long  story 
short,"  Barny  prevailed  on  Peter  Kelly  to  make  an  ex- 
port; but  in  the  nature  of  the  venture  they  did  not 
agree.  Barny  had  proposed  potatoes ;  Peter  said  there 
were  enough  of  them  already  where  he  was  going ;  and 
Barny  rejoined  that,  "praties  were  so  good  in  them- 
selves there  never  could  be  too  much  o'  thim  anywhere." 
But  Peter  being  a  knowledgeable  man,  and  up  to  all  the 
"  saycrets  o'  the  airth,  and  understanding  the  the-o-ry 
and  the  che-mis-thery,"  overruled  Barny's  proposition, 
and  determined  upon  a  cargo  of  scalpeens  (which  name 
they  gave  to  pickled  mackerel),  as  a  preferable  merchan- 
dise, quite  forgetting  that  DubUu  Bay  herrings  were  a 
much  better  and  as  cheap  a  commodity,  at  the  command 
of  the  Fingaliaus.  But  in  many  similar  mistakes  the 
ingenious  Mr.  Kelly  has  been  paralleled  by  other  specu- 
lators.   But  that  is  neither  here  nor  there,  and  it  was 


20  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

all  one  to  Bamy  whether  his  boat  was  freighted  with 
potatoes  or  scalpeens,  so  long  as  he  had  the  honor  and 
glory  of  becoming  a  navigator,  and  being  as  good  as 
O'Sullivan. 

Accordingly  the  boat  was  laden  and  all  got  in  readi- 
ness for  putting  to  sea,  and  nothing  was  now  wanting 
but  Barny's  orders  to  haul  up  the  gaff  and  shake  out 
the  jib  of  his  hooker. 

But  this  order  Barny  refrained  to  give,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  exhibited  a  disinclination  to  leave 
the  shore.  One  of  his  fellow- boatmen,  at  last,  said  to 
him,  "Why  thin,  Barny  O'Rcirdon,  what  the  divil  is 
come  over  you,  at  all  at  all  ?  What 's  the  maynin'  of 
your  loitherin'  about  here,  and  the  boat  ready  and  a 
lovely  fine  breeze  aff  o'  the  land  ?  " 

"  0,  never  you  mind ;  I  b'lieve  I  know  my  own 
business  anyhow,  an'  it 's  hard,  so  it  is,  if  a  man  can't 
ordhcr  his  own  boat  to  sail  when  he  ])lazes." 

"  O,  I  was  only  thinking  it  quare ;  and  a  pity  more 
betoken,  as  I  said  before,  to  lose  the  beautiful  breeze, 
and  —  " 

"Well,  just  keep  your  thoughts  to  yourself,  i'  you 
plaze,  and  stay  in  the  boat  as  I  bid  you,  and  don't  be 
out  of  her  on  your  apperl,  by  no  manner  o'  manes,  for 
one  minit,  for  you  see  I  don't  know  when  it  may  be  plaz- 
in'  to  me  to  go  aboord  an'  set  sail." 

"  Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  I  never  seen  you  afeared  to 
go  to  say  before." 

"  Who  says  1  'm  afeared  ?  "  said  O'Rcirdon ;  "you  'd 
betther  not  say  that  agin,  or  in  troth  I'll  give  you  a 
leatherin'  that  won't  be  for  the  good  o'  your  health,  — 


BARNY    O'REIIIDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  21 

trotli,  for  three  straws  this  minit  I  'd  lave  you  tliat  your 
own  mother  would  n't  know  you  with  the  lickin'  I  'd 
give  you ;  but  I  scorn  your  dirty  insinuation ;  no  man 
ever  seen  Barny  O'Reirdon  afeard  yet,  anyhow.  Howld 
your  prate,  I  tell  you,  and  look  up  to  your  betthers. 
What  do  you  know  iv  navigation  ?  Maybe  you  think 
it 's  as  aisy  for  to  sail  on  a  voyage  as  to  go  start  a 
fishin'."  And  Barny  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the 
shore. 

The  next  day  passed  without  the  hooker  sailing,  and 
Barny  gave  a  most  sufficient  reason  for  the  delay,  by  de- 
claring that  he  had  a  warnin'  givin  him  in  a  dhrame 
(Glory  be  to  God),  and  that  it  was  given  to  him  to  un- 
derstand (under  Heaven)  that  it  would  n't  be  lucky  that 
day. 

Well,  the  next  day  was  Friday,  and  Barny,  of  course, 
would  not  sail  any  more  than  any  other  sailor  who  could 
help  it  on  this  unpropitious  day.  On  Saturday,  how- 
ever, he  came,  running  in  a  great  hurry  down  to  the 
shore,  and,  jumping  aboard,  he  gave  orders  to  make  all 
sail,  and  taking  the  helm  of  the  hooker,  he  turned  her 
head  to  the  sea,  aTid  soon  the  boat  was  cleaving  the  blue 
waters  with  a  velocity  seldom  witnessed  in  so  small  a 
craft,  and  scarcely  conceivable  to  those  who  have  not 
seen  the  speed  of  a  Kinsale  hooker. 

"  Why,  thm,  you  tuk  the  notion  mighty  suddint,  Bar- 
ny," said  the  fisherman  next  in  authority  to  O'Reirdon, 
as  soon  as  the  bustle  of  getting  the  boat  under  way  had 
subsided. 

"  Well,  I  hope  it 's  plazin'  to  you  at  last,"  said  Barny, 
"troth  one  ud  think  you  were  never  at  say  before,  you 


22  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

wor  in  such  a  Inirry  to  be  off;  as  new-fangled  a'most 
as  the  child  with  a  play  toy." 

"Well,"  said  the  other  of  Baniy's  companions,  for 
there  were  but  two  with  him  in  the  boat,  "  I  was  think- 
in'  myself,  as  well  as  Jemmy,  that  we  lost  two  fine  days 
for  nothin',  and  we  'd  be  there  a'most,  maybe,  now,  if 
we  sail'd  three  days  agon." 

"  Don't  b'lieve  it,"  said  Barny,  emphatically.  "  Now, 
don't  you  know  yourself  that  there  is  some  days  that 
the  fish  won't  come  near  the  lines  at  all,  and  that  we 
might  as  well  be  castiu'  our  nets  on  the  dliry  laud  as 
in  the  say,  for  all  we  '11  catch  if  we  start  on  an  uulooky 
day ;  and  sure,  I  towld  you  I  was  waitin'  only  till  I  had 
it  given  to  me  to  undherstau'  that  it  was  looky  to  sail, 
and  I  go  bail  we  '11  be  there  sooner  than  if  we  started 
three  days  agon,  for  if  you  don't  start  with  good  look 
before  you,  faix  maybe  it 's  never  at  all  to  the  end  o' 
your  trip  you  '11  come." 

"  Well,  there  's  no  use  in  talkin'  aboot  it  now,  any- 
how ;  but  when  do  you  expec'  to  be  there  ?  " 

"  Wliy,  you  see  we  must  wait  antil  I  can  tell  how  the 
wind  is  like  to  hould  on,  before  I  can  make  up  my  mind 
to  that." 

"  But  you  're  sure  now,  Barny,  that  you  're  up  to  the 
coorse  you  have  to  run  ?  " 

"  See  now,  lave  me  alone  and  don't  be  cross  crass- 
questionin'  me  —  tare-an-ouns,  do  you  think  me  sich  a 
bladdherang  as  for  to  go  to  shuperinscribe  a  thing  I 
was  n't  aiquil  to  ?  " 

"No;  I  was  only  goin'  to  ax  you  what  coorse  you 
wor  goiu'  to  steer  P  " 


BARNY    O'llEITlDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  23 

"  You  '11  find  out  soon  enougli  wlien  we  get  tliere  — 
and  so  I  bid  jou  agiu  lay  uie  alone, — just  keep  your 
toe  in  your  puni]).  Sliure  1  'm  here  at  the  helm,  and 
a  weight  on  ray  mind,  and  it 's  fitther  for  you,  Jun,  to 
mind  your  own  business  and  lay  me  to  mind  mine ;  away 
wid  you  tliere  and  be  handy,  haul  taut  that  foresheet 
there,  we  must  run  close  ou  the  wind ;  be  handy,  boys ; 
make  everything  dhraw." 

These  orders  were  obeyed,  and  the  hooker  soon  passed 
to  windward  of  a  ship  that  left  the  harbor  before  her, 
but  could  not  hold  ou  a  wind  with  the  same  tenacity  as 
the  hooker,  whose  qualities  in  this  particular  render  it 
peculiarly  suitable  for  the  purposes  to  which  it  is  applied, 
uaniely,  pilot  and  fishing  boats. 

We  have  said  a  ship  left  the  harbor  before  the  hooker 
had  set  sail ;  and  it  is  now  fitting  to  inform  the  reader 
that  Barny  had  contrived,  in  the  course  of  his  last  meet- 
ing with  the  "long  sailor,"  to  ascertain  that  this  siiip, 
then  lying  in  the  harbor,  was  going  to  the  very  place 
Barny  wanted  to  reach.  Barny's  plan  of  action  was 
decided  upon  in  a  moment ;  he  had  now  nothing  to  do 
but  to  watch  the  sailing  of  the  ship  and  follow  in  her 
course.  Here  was,  at  once,  a  new  mode  of  navigation 
discovered. 

The  stars,  twinkling  in  mysterious  brightness  through 
the  silent  gloom  of  night,  were  the  first  encouraging, 
because  visible,  guides  to  the  adventurous  mariners  of 
antiquity.  Since  then,  the  sailor,  encouragei  by  a 
bolder  science,  relies  on  the  unseen  agency  of  nature, 
depending  on  the  fidelity  of  an  atom  of  iron  to  the 
mystic  law  that  claims  its  homage  in  the  north.     This 


24  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

is  one  reflnement  of  science  upon  another.  But  the 
beautiful  simplicity  of  Barny  O'Reirdon's  philosophy  can- 
not be  too  much  admired,  —  to  follow  the  ship  that  is 
going  to  the  same  place.  Is  not  this  navigation  made 
easy? 

But  Barny,  like  many  a  great  man  before  him,  seemed 
not  to  be  aware  of  how  much  credit  he  was  entitled  to 
for  his  invention,  for  he  did  not  divulge  to  his  compan- 
ions the  originality  of  his  proceeding;  he  wished  them 
to  believe  he  was  only  proceeding  in  the  commonplace 
manner,  and  had  no  ambition  to  be  distinguished  as  tlie 
happy  projector  of  so  simple  a  practice. 

Tor  this  purpose  he  went  to  windward  of  the  ship 
and  then  fell  off  again,  allowing  her  to  pass  him,  as  he 
did  not  wish  even  those  on  board  the  ship  to  suppose 
he  was  following  in  their  wake ;  for  Barny,  like  all  people 
that  are  quite  full  of  one  scheme,  and  fancy  everybody 
is  watching  them,  dreaded  lest  any  one  should  fathom 
his  motives.  All  that  day  Barny  held  on  the  same 
course  as  his  leader,  keeping  at  a  respectful  distance, 
however,  "  for  fear  't  would  look  like  dodging  her,"  r.s 
he  said  to  himself;  but  as  night  closed  in,  so  closed  in 
Barny  with  the  ship,  and  kept  a  sharp  lookout  that  she 
should  not  give  him  the  slip.  The  next  morning  dawned, 
and  found  the  hooker  and  ship  companions  still ;  and 
tlius  matters  proceeded  for  four  days,  during  which 
entire  time  they  had  not  seen  laud  since  their  first 
losing  sight  of  it,  although  the  weather  was  clear. 

"By  my  sowl,"  thought  Barny,  "the  channel  must 
be  mighty  wide  in  these  parts,  and  for  the  last  day  or 
so  yve  've  been  goin'  purty  free  with  a  flowing  sheet, 


BARNY    O'REIRDON   THE    NAVIGATOR.         25 

and  I  wondher  we  are  n't  closin'  in  wid  the  shore  by 
this  time;  or  maybe -it's  farther  off  than  I  thought  it 
was."  His  companions,  too,  began  to  question  Barny 
on  the  subject,  but  to  their  queries  he  presented  an 
impenetrable  front  of  composure,  and  said  "it  was 
always  the  best  plan  to  keep  a  good  bowld  offin'."  In 
two  days  more,  however,  the  weather  began  to  be  sen- 
sibly warmer,  and  Barny  and  liis  companions  remarked 
that  it  was  "  goin'  to  be  the  finest  sayson  —  God  bless 
it  —  that  ever  kem  out  o'  the  skies  for  many  a  long  year, 
and  maybe  it 's  the  whate  would  not  be  beautiful,  and 
a  great  dale  of  it." 

It  was  at  the  end  of  a  week  that  the  ship  which  Barny 
had  hitherto  kept  ahead  of  him  showed  symptoms  of 
bearing  down  upon  Jiim,  as  he  thought,  and,  sure 
enough,  she  did;  and  Barny  began  to  conjecture  what 
the  deuce  the  ship  could  want  with  liim,  and  commenced 
inventing  answers  to  the  questions  he  thought  it  possible 
might  be  put  to  him  in  case  the  ship  spoke  him.  He 
was  soon  put  out  of  suspense  by  being  hailed  and  ordered 
to  run  under  her  lee,  and  the  captain,  looking  over  the 
quarter,  asked  Barny  where  he  was  going. 

"  Faith  then,  I  'm  goin'  an  my  business,"  said  Barny. 

"  But  where  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"Why,  sure,  an'  it's  no  matther  where  a  poor  man 
like  me  id  be  goin',"  said  Barny. 

"  Only  I  'm  curious  to  know  what  the  deuce  you  've 
been  following  my  ship  for,  the  last  week." 

'ToUyin'  your  ship!  Why,  thin,  blur-an-agers,  do 
you  think  it 's  follyin'  yiz  I  am  ? " 

"  It 's  very  like  it,"  said  the  captain. 

vol,.  IX.  2 


26  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

"  W\\\,  did  two  people  niver  tliravel  the  same  road 
before  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  they  did  n't ;  but  tliere  's  a  great  difler- 
ence  between  a  ship  of  seven  hundred  tons  and  a 
hooker." 

"0,  as  for  tliat  matther,"  said  Barny,  "the  same 
high-road  sarves  a  coach  and  four  and  a  lowback  car, 
the  thravellin'  tinker  an'  a  lord  a'  horseback." 

"  That 's  very  true,"  said  the  captain,  "  but  the  cases 
are  not  the  same,  Paddy,  and  I  can't  conceive  what  the 
devil  brings  ^ou  here." 

"  And  who  ax'd  you  to  consayve  anything  about  it  ?  " 
asked  Barny,  somewhat  sturdily. 

"  D — n  me,  if  I  can  imagine  what  you  're  about,  my 
fine  fellow,"  said  the  captain ;  "  and  my  own  notion  is, 
that  you  don't  know  where  the  d — 1  you  're  going 
yourself." 

"  0  baithershin  ! "  said  Barny,  with  a  laugh  of  de- 
rision. 

"  Wliy  then  do  you  object  to  tell  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"  Arrah  surCj  captain,  an'  don't  you  know  that  some- 
times vessels  is  bound  to  sail  under  suycret  ordhers  ? " 
said  Barny,  endeavoring  to  foil  the  question  by  badinage. 

There  was  a  universal  laugh  from  the  deck  of  tlie  ship, 
at  the  idea  of  a  fishing-boat  sailing  under  secret  orders ; 
for,  by  fhis  time,  the  whole  broadside  of  the  vessel  was 
crowded  witli  grinning  mouths  and  wondering  eyes  at 
Barny  and  his  boat. 

"  O,  it 's  a  thrifle  makes  fools  laugh,"  said  Barny. 

"  Take  care,  my  fine  fellow,  that  you  don't  be  laugh- 
ing at  the  wrong  side  of  your  mouth  before  long,  for 


BARNY   O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  27 

I  've  a  notion  that  you  're  cursedly  in  the  wrong  box,  as 
cunning  a  fellow  as  you  think  yourself.  D — n  your 
stupid  head,  can't  you  tell  what  brings  you  here  ?  " 

"Why,  thin,  by  gor,  one  id  think  the  whole  say 
belonged  to  you,  you  're  so  mighty  bowld  in  axin'  ques- 
tions an  it.  Why,  tare-an-ouus,  sure  I  've  as  much  right 
to  be  here  as  you,  though  I  have  n't  as  big  a  ship  nor  as 
fine  a  coat,  —  but  maybe  I  can  take  as  good  a  sailin'  out 
o'  the  one,  and  has  as  bowld  a  heart  under  th'  other." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  see  there 's  no  use 
in  talking  to  you,  so  go  to  the  d — 1  your  own  way." 
And  away  bore  the  ship,  leaving  Barny  in  indignation 
and  his  companions  in  wonder. 

"  An'  why  would  n't  you  tell  him  ?  "  said  they  to 
Barny. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,"  said  Barny,  whose  object  was 
now  to  blind  them,  —  "  don't  you  see,  how  do  I  know 
but  maybe  he  might  be  goin'  to  the  same  place  himself, 
and  maybe  he  has  a  cargo  of  scalpeens  as  well  as  uz, 
and  wants  to  get  before  us  there." 

"  True  for  you,  Barny,"  said  they.  "  By  dad,  you  're 
right."  And  their  inquiries  being  satisfied,  the  day 
passed  as  former  ones  had  done,  in  pursuing  the  course 
of  the  ship. 

In  four  days  more,  however,  the  provisions  in  the 
hooker  began  to  fail,  and  they  were  obliged  to  have 
recouree  to  the  scalpeens  for  sustenance,  and  Barny  then 
got  seriously  uneasy  at  the  length  of  the  voyage,  and 
the  likely  greater  length,  for  anything  he  could  see  to 
the  contrary ;  and,  urged  at  last  by  his  own  alarms 
and  those  of  his  companions,  he  was  enabled,  as  the 


28  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

wind  was  light,  to  gain  on  the  ship,  and  wlicn  he  found 
himself  alongside  he  demanded  a  parley  with  the  cap- 
tain. 

The  captain,  on  hearing  that  the  "  hardy  hooker,"  as 
she  got  christened,  was  under  his  lee,  came  on  deck; 
and  as  soon  as  he  appeared  Baruy  cried  out,  — 

"  Why,  thin,  blur-an-ager?,  Captain  dear,  do  you  ex- 
pec'  to  be  there  soon  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"  O,  you  know  yourself !  "  said  Bamy. 

"  It 's  well  for  me  I  do,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Thrue  for  you,  indeed,  your  honor,"  said  Bamy,  in 
his  most  insinuating  tone ;  "  but  wliin  will  you  be  at  the 
ind  o'  your  voyage.  Captain  jewel  ?  " 

"  I  daresay  in  about  three  months,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. 

"  O  Holy  Mother ! "  ejaculated  Bamy;  " three  months ! 
—  arrah,  it 's  jokin'  you  are.  Captain  dear,  and  only  want 
to  freken  me." 

"  How  should  I  frighten  you  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"  Why,  thin,  your  honor,  to  tell  God's  thruth,  I  licard 
you  were  goin'  there,  an'  as  I  wanted  to  go  there  too,  I 
thought  I  could  n't  do  better  nor  to  folly  a  knowledge- 
able gintleman  like  yourself,  and  save  myself  the  throuble 
iv  fiudin'  it  out." 

"  And  where  do  you  think  I  am  going  ?  "  said  the 
captain. 

"  Why,  thin,"  said  Bamy,  "  is  n't  it  to  Tingal  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  captain,  "it 's  to  Bengal." 

"  D  Gog's  blakey  !  "  said  Barny,  "  what  '11 1  do  now, 
at  all  at  all  'i  " 


BAENY    O'REIEDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.         29 

n. 

HOMEWARD   BOUND. 

The  captain  ordered  Barny  on  deck,  as  he  wished 
to  have  some  conversation  with  liiin  on  what  he,  very 
naturally,  considered  a  most  extraordinary  adventure. 
Heaven  help  the  captain  !  he  knew  little  of  Irishmen,  or 
he  would  not  have  been  so  astonished.  Baruy  made  his 
appearance.  Puzzling  question  and  more  puzzling  an- 
swer followed  in  quick  succession  between  the  com- 
mander and  Barny,  who,  in  the  midst  of  his  dilemma, 
stamped  about,  thumped  his  head,  squeezed  his  caubeen 
into  all  manner  of  shapes,  and  vented  his  despair  anathe- 
ntatically :  "  O,  my  heavy  hathred  to  you,  you  tamal 
thief  iv  a  long  sailor,  it 's  a  purty  scraps  yiv  led  me  into. 
By  gor,  I  thought  it  was  Fingal  he  said,  and  now  I  hear 
it  is  Bingal.  O,  the  divil  sweep  you  for  navigation, 
why  did  I  meddle  or  make  wid  you  at  all  at  all  ?  And 
my  curse  light  on  you,  Terry  O'Sullivan,  why  did  I  iver 
come  across  you,  you  onlooky  vagabone,  to  put  sich 
thoughts  in  my  head  ?  And  so  it 's  Bin-gal,  and  not  Fin- 
gal, you  're  goin'  to.  Captain  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Paddy." 

"An'  might  I  be  so  bowld  to  ax.  Captain,  is  Bingal 
much  farther  nor  Fingal  ?  " 

"A  trifle  or  so,  Paddy?" 

"  Och,  thin,  millia  murther,  weirasthru,  how  '11 1  iver 
get  there  at  all  at  all  ?  "  roared  out  poor  Barny. 

"  By  turning  about,  and  getting  back  the  road  you  've 
come,  as  fast  as  you  can." 


30  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Is  it  back  ?  O  Queen  iv  Heaven !  an'  how  will 
I  iver  get  back  ?  "  said  the  bewildered  Barny. 

"  Then,  you  don't  know  your  course,  it  appears  ?  " 

"  0,  faix  I  knew  it  iligant,  as  long  as  your  honor  was 
before  me." 

"  But  you  don't  know  your  course  back  ?  " 

"  Why,  indeed,  not  to  say  rightly  all  out,  your  honor." 

"  Can't  you  steer  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"  The  divil  a  betther  hand  at  the  tiller  in  all  Kinsale," 
said  Baniy,  with  his  usual  brag. 

"  Well,  so  far  so  good,"  said  the  captain.  "  And  you 
know  the  points  of  the  compass,  —  you  have  a  compass, 
I  suppose  ?  " 

"  A  compass !  by  my  sowl  an'  it 's  not  let  alone  a 
compass,  but  a  pair  a  compasses  I  have,  that  my  brother 
the  carpinthir  left  me  for  a  keepsake  whin  he  wint 
abroad ;  but,  indeed,  as  for  the  points  o'  thim  I  can't 
say  much,  for  the  childer  spylt  thim  intirely,  rootin' 
holes  in  the  flure." 

"  What  the  plague  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  asked 
the  captain. 

"  Was  n't  yonr  honor  discoorsin'  me  about  the  points 
o'  the  compasses  ?  " 

"  Confound  your  thick  head ! "  said  the  captain. 
"  Wliy,  what  an  ignoramus  you  must  be,  not  to  know 
what  a  compass  is,  and  you  at  sea  all  your  life  ?  Do  you 
even  know  the  cardinal  points  ?  " 

"  The  cardinals  !  faix,  an'  it 's  a  great  respect  I  have 
for  them,  your  honor.  Sure,  ar*  n't  they  belongin'  to 
the  pope?" 

"  Confound  you,  you  blockhead  ! "  roared  the  cap- 


BATIXY    O'EEIRDON   THE    NAVIGATOR.         31 

taiii,  ill  a  rage,  —  "  't  would  take  the  patience  of  the 
pope  and  the  cardinals,  and  the  cardinal  virtues  into  the 
bargain,  to  keep  one's  temper  with  you.  Do  you  know 
the  four  points  of  the  wind  ?  " 

"  By  my  sowl,  I  do,  and  more." 

"  Well,  never  mind  more,  but  let  us  stick  to  four. 
You  're  sure  you  know  the  four  points  of  the  wind  ?  " 

"  By  dad,  it  would  be  a  quare  thing  if  a  seyfarin'  man 
did  n't  know  somethin'  about  the  wind  anyhow.  Why, 
Captain  dear,  you  must  take  me  for  a  nathral  intirely,  to 
suspect  me  o'  the  like  o'  not  knowin'  aU  about  the  wind. 
By  gor,  I  know  as  much  o'  the  wind  a'most  as  a  pig." 

"  Indeed,  I  believe  so,"  laughed  out  the  captain. 

"O,  you  may  laugli  if  you  plaze,  and  I  see  by  the 
same  that  you  don't  know  about  the  pig,  with  all  your 
edication.  Captain." 

"  Well,  what  about  the  pig  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  did  you  never  hear  a  pig  can  see  the 
wind  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  did." 

"  0,  thin  he  does,  and  for  that  rayson  who  has  a  right 
to  know  more  about  it  ?  " 

"  You  don't,  for  one,  I  dare  say,  Paddy ;  and  maybe 
you  have  a  pig  aboard  to  give  you  information." 

"  Sorra  taste,  your  honor,  not  as  much  as  a  rasher  o' 
bacon ;  but  it 's  maybe  your  honor  never  seen  a  pig 
tossing  up  his  snout,  consaited  like,  and  running  like 
mad  afore  a  storm." 

"  Well,  what  if  I  have  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  that  is  when  they  see  the  wind  a-comin'." 

"  Maybe  so,  Paddy,  but  all  this  knowledge  in  piggery 


32  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

won't  find  you  your  way  home ;  and,  if  you  take  my 
advice,  you  will  give  up  all  thoughts  of  endeavoring  to 
find  your  way  back,  and  come  on  board.  You  and  your 
messmates,  I  dare  say,  will  be  useful  hands,  with  some 
teaching ;  but,  at  all  events,  I  cannot  leave  you  here  on 
the  open  sea,  with  every  chance  of  being  lost." 

"  Why,  thin,  indeed,  and  I  'm  behowlden  to  your 
honor ;  and  it 's  the  hoighth  o'  kindness,  so  it  is,  you 
offer;  and  it's  nothin'  else  but  a  gintleman  you  are, 
every  inch  o'  you ;  but  I  hope  it 's  not  so  bad  wid  us 
yet,  as  to  do  the  likes  o'  that." 

"  I  think  it 's  bad  enough,"  said  the  captain,  "  when 
you  are  without  a  compass  and  knowing  nothing  of  your 
course,  and  nearly  a  hundred  and  eighty  leagues  from 
knd." 

"  An'  how  many  miles  would  that  be,  Captain  ?  " 

"  Three  times  as  many." 

"  I  never  lamed  the  rule  o'  three.  Captain,  and  maybe 
your  honor  id  tell  me  yourself." 

"  Tiiat  is  rather  more  than  five  hundred  miles." 

"  Five  hundred  miles !  "  shouted  Barny.  "  O,  the 
Lord  look  down  upon  us  !  how  '11  we  ever  get  back  P  " 

"  That 's  what  I  say,"  said  the  captain ;  "  and  there- 
fore, I  recommend  you  to  come  aboard  with  me." 

"  And  where  'ud  the  hooker  be  all  the  time  ?  "  said 
Barny. 

"  Let  her  go  adrift,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Is  it  the  darUut  boat  ?  O,  by  dad,  I  '11  never  hear 
o'  that  at  all." 

"  Well,  then,  stay  in  her  and  be  lost.  Decide  upon 
the  matter  at  once,  either  come  on  board  or  cast  off." 


BARNY    O'REIRDON   THE    NAVIGATOR.  33 

And  the  captain  was  turning  away  as  he  spoke,  when 
Barny  called  after  him,  "  Arrah,  thin,  your  honor,  don't 
go  jist  for  one  minit  antil  I  ax  you  one  word  more.  If 
I  wint  wid  you,  whin  would  I  be  home  again  ?  " 

"  In  about  seven  months." 

"  0,  thin,  that  puts  the  wig  an  it  at  wanst.  I  dar'  n't 
go  at  all." 

"  Why,  seven  months  are  not  long  passing." 

"  Thrue  for  you,  in  throth,"  said  Barny,  with  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders.  "  Faix,  it 's  myself  knows,  to  my  sor- 
row, the  half  year  comes  round  mighty  suddint,  and  the 
lord's  agint  comes  for  the  thrifle  o'  rent." 

"  Then  what 's  your  objection,  as  to  the  time  ? " 
asked  the  captain. 

"  Arrah,  sure,  sir,  what  would  the  woman  that  owns 
me  do  wliile  I  was  away  ?  and  maybe  it 's  break  her  heart 
the  craythur  would,  thinking  I  was  lost  intirely ;  and 
who  'd  be  at  home  to  take  care  o'  the  childher'  and  aim 
thim  the  bit  and  the  sup,  whin  I  'd  be  away  ?  and  who 
knows  but  it 's  all  dead  they  'd  be  afore  I  got  back  ? 
Och  hone  !  sure  the  heart  id  fairly  break  in  my  body, 
if  hurt  or  harm  kem  to  them,  through  me.  So,  say  no 
more.  Captain  dear,  only  give  me  a  thrifle  o'  directions 
how  I  'm  to  make  an  offer  at  gettin'  home,  and  it 's  my- 
self that  will  pray  for  you  night,  noon,  and  momin'  for 
that  same."  ■" 

"  Well,  Paddy,"  said  the  captain,  "  as  you  are  deter- 
mined to  go  back,  in  spite  of  all  I  can  say,  you  must 
attend  to  me  well  while  I  give  you  as  simple  instructions 
as  I  can.  You  say  you  know  the  four  points  of  the 
wind,  north,  south,  east,  and  west." 

2*  o 


34  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  How  do  you  know  them  ?  for  I  must  see  that  you 
are  not  likely  to  make  a  mistake.  How  do  you  know 
the  points  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  the  sun,  God  bless  it,  rises  in  the 
aist,  and  sets  in  the  west,  which  stands  to  raison ;  and 
whin  you  stand  bechuxt  the  aist  and  the  west,  the  north 
is  forninst  you." 

"  And  when  the  north  is  fornenst  you,  as  you  say,  is 
the  east  on  your  right  or  your  left  hand  ?  " 

"  On  the  right  hand,  your  honor." 

"  Well,  I  see  you  know  that  much,  however.  Now," 
said  the  captain,  "the  moment  you  leave  the  ship,  you 
must  steer  a  northeast  course,  and  you  will  make  some 
land  near  home  in  about  a  week,  if  the  wind  holds  as  it 
is  now,  and  it  is  likely  to  do  so ;  but,  mind  me,  if  you 
turn  out  of  your  course  in  the  smallest  degree  you  are  a 
lost  man." 

"  Many  thanks  to  your  honor  !  " 

"  And  how  are  you  off  for  provisions  ?  " 

"  Why,  thin,  indeed,  in  the  regard  o'  that  same  we  are 
in  the  hoighth  o'  distress,  for  exceptin'  the  scalpeeus, 
sorra  taste  passed  our  lips  for  these  four  days." 

"  O,  you  poor  devils !  "  said  the  commander,  in  a 
tone  of  sincere  commiseration,  "  I  '11  order  you  some 
provisions  on  board  before  you  start." 

"  Long  life  to  your  honor  !  and  I  'd  like  to  drink  the 
health  of  so  noble  a  gintleman." 

"  I  understand  you,  Paddy,  you  shall  have  grog 
too." 

"  Alusha,  the  heavens  shower  blessin's  an  you,  I  pray 


BAllNY    O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  35 

the  Virgin  Mary  and  the  twelve  apostles,  Matthew, 
Mark,  Luke,  and  John,  not  forgettin'  Saint  Pathrick." 

"  Tliank  you,  Paddy ;  but  keep  your  prayers  for 
yourself,  for  you  need  thcin  all  to  help  you  home 
again." 

"  Oh  !  never  fear,  when  the  tiling  is  to  be  done,  I  '11 
do  it,  by  dad,  wid  a  heart  and  a  half.  And  sure,  your 
honor,  God  is  good,  an'  will  mind  dessolute  craythurs 
like  uz  on  the  wild  oceant  as  well  as  ashore." 

WhQe  some  of  the  ship's  crew  were  putting  the  cap- 
tain's benevolent  intentions  to  Barny  and  his  compan- 
ions into  practice,  by  transferring  some  provisions  to  tlie 
hooker,  the  commander  entertained  himself  by  further 
conversation  with  Barny,  who  was  the  greatest  original 
he  had  ever  met.  In  the  course  of  their  colloquy, 
Barny  drove  many  hard  queries  at  the  captain,  re- 
specting the  wonders  of  the  nautical  profession,  and  at 
last  put  the  question  to  him  plump  :  — 

"  Oh !  thin.  Captain  dear,  and  how  is  it  at  all  at  all, 
that  you  make  your  way  over  the  wide  says  intirely  to 
them  furrin  parts  ?  " 

"  You  would  not  understand,  Paddy,  if  I  attempted  to 
explain  to  you." 

"  Sure  enough,  indeed,  your  honor,  and  I  ask  your 
pardon,  only  I  was  curious  to  know,  and  sure  no 
wondher." 

"  It  requires  various  branches  of  knowledge  to  make 
a  navigator." 

"  Branches,"  said  Barny,  "  by  gar  I  think  it  id  take 
the  whole  tree  o'  knowledge  to  make  it  out.  And  tliat 
place  you  are  going  to,  sir,  that  Jiinga\  (oh!  bad  luck 


36  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

to  it  for  a  Bingal,  it 's  the  sore  Bingal  to  me),  is  it  so 
far  olf  as  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Paddy,  half  round  the  world." 

"  Is  it  round  in  airuest,  Captaui  dear  ?  Round  about !  " 

"  Aye,  indeed." 

"  O,  thin,  ar'  n't  you  afeard  that  whin  you  come  to  tlie 
top  and  that  you  're  obleedged  to  go  down,  that  you  'd 
go  slidderhin  away  intirely,  and  never  be  able  to  stop, 
maybe.  It's  bad  enough,  so  it  is,  going  down  hill  by 
land,  but  it  must  be  the  dickens  all  out  by  wather." 

"But  there  is  no  hill,  Paddy;  don't  you  know  that 
water  is  always  level  ?  " 

*'  By  dad,  it 's  veryjlat  anyhow,  and  by  the  same  token 
it 's  seldom  I  throuble  it ;  but  sure,  your  honor,  if  the 
wather  is  level,  how  do  you  make  out  that  it  is  rovnd 
you  go  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  part  of  the  knowledge  I  was  speaking  to 
you  about,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Musha,  bad  luck  to  you,  knowledge,  but  you  're  a 
quare  tiling !  —  and  where  is  it  Bingal,  bad  cess  to  it, 
would  be  at  all  at  all  ?  " 

"  In  the  East  Indies." 

"  O,  that  is  where  tliey  make  the  fay,  is  n't  it,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  where  the  tea  grows  is  further  still." 

"Further!  why  that  must  be  the  ind  of  the  world 
intirely ;  and  they  don't  make  it,  thin,  sir,  but  it  grows, 
you  tell  me.'i 

"  Yes,  Paddy." 

"  Is  it  like  hay,  your  honor  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  Paddy ;  what  puts  hay  in  your  head  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  only  bekase  I  hear  them  call  it  Bo/iay." 


BAUNY    O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  37 

"  A  most  logical  deduction,  Paddy." 

"  And  is  it  a  great  deal  farther,  your  honor,  the  tay 
country  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Paddy,  China  it  is  called." 

"  That 's,  I  suppose,  what  we  call  Cliaynee,  sir  ?  " 

"Exactly,  Paddy." 

"  By  dad,  I  never  could  come  at  it  rightly  before,  why 
it  was  nathral  to  druik  tay  out  o'  chaynee.  I  ax  your 
honor's  pardon  for  bein'  troublesome,  but  I  hard  tell 
from  the  long  sailor,  iv  a  place  they  call  Japan,  in  them 
f  urrin  parts,  and  is  it  there,  your  honor  ?  " 

"  Quite  true,  Paddy." 

"  And  I  suppose  it 's  there  the  blackin'  comes  from." 

"No,  Paddy,  you  are  out  there." 

"  O  well,  I  thought  it  stood  to  rayson,  as  I  heerd  of 
Japan  blackin',  sir,  that  it  would  be  there  it  kern  from ; 
besides,  —  as  the  blacks  themselves,  —  the  naygers,  I 
mane,  is  in  them  parts." 

"The  negroes  are  in  Africa,  Paddy,  much  nearer  to 
us." 

"  God  betune  us  and  harm.  I  hope  I  would  not  be 
too  near  them,"  said  Barny. 

"  Why,  what 's  your  objection  ?  " 

"  Arrah  sure,  sir,  they  're  hardly  mortials  at  all,  but 
has  the  mark  o'  the  bastes  an  thim." 

"  How  do  you  make  out  that,  Paddy  ?  " 

"  Why  sure,  sir,  and  did  n't  Natur  make  thim  wid 
wool  on  their  heads,  plainly  makin'  it  undherstood  to 
Chrishthans,  that  they  were  little  more  nor  cattle?" 

"  I  thuik  your  head  is  a  wool-gathering  now,  Paddy," 
said  the  captain,  laughing. 


38  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"Faix,  maybe  so,  indeed,"  answered  Barny,  good- 
hninoredly,  "  but  it 's  seldom  I  ever  went  out  to  look 
for  wool  and  kein  home  shorn,  anyhow,"  said  he,  with  a 
look  of  triumph. 

"Well,  you  won't  have  that  to  say  for  the  future, 
Paddy,"  said  the  captain,  laughing  again. 

"My  name's  not  Paddy,  your  honor,"  said  Barny, 
returmng  the  laugh,  but  seizing  the  opportunity  to  turn 
the  joke  aside,  that  was  going  against  him ;  "  my  name 
is  n't  Paddy,  sir,  but  Barny." 

"  O,  if  it  was  Solomon,  you  '11  be  bare  enough  when 
you  go  home  this  time ;  you  have  not  gathered  much 
this  trip,  Barny." 

"  Sure,  I  've  been  gathering  knowledge,  anyhow,  your 
Lonor,"  said  Barny,  with  a  significant  look  at  the  cap- 
tain, and  a  complimentary  tip  of  his  hand  to  his  caubeen, 
"  and  God  bless  you  for  being  so  good  to  me." 

"  And  what 's  your  name  besides  Baniy  ?  "  asked  the 
captain. 

"  O'Reirdon,  your  honor,  —  Barny  O'Reirdon  's  my 
name." 

"Well,  Barny  O'Reirdon,  I  won't  forget  your  name 
nor  yourself  in  a  hurry,  for  you  are  certainly  tlie  most 
original  navigator  I  ever  had  the  honor  of  being  ac- 
quainted with." 

"  Well,"  said  Baniy,  with  a  triumphant  toss  of  his 
head,  "I  have  done  Terry  O'Sullivan,  at  any  rate,  the 
devil  a  half  so  far  he  ever  was,  and  that 's  a  comfort. 
I  have  muzzled  his  clack  for  the  rest  iv  his  life,  and  he 
won't  be  comin'  over  us  wid  the  pride  iv  his  FtHgnl 
while  I  'm  to  the  fore,  that  was  a'most  at  Bingal ! " 


BARNY    O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  39 

"Terry  O'SuUivan,  — who  is  he,  pray  ?  "  said  the  cap- 
tain. 

"  0,  he  's  a  scut  iv  a  chap  that 's  not  worth  your  axiu' 
for,  —  he  's  not  worth  your  honor's  notice,  —  a  braggin' 
poor  craythur.  O,  wait  till  I  get  home,  and  the  devil  a 
more  braggin'  they  '11  hear  out  of  his  jaw." 

"  Indeed  then,  Baniy,  tlie  sooner  you  turn  your  face 
toward  home  the  better,"  said  the  captain :  "  since  you 
will  go,  there  is  no  need  of  your  losuig  more  time." 

"  Tlirue  for  you,  your  honor,  —  and  sure  it 's  well  far 
me  I  had  the  luck  to  meet  with  the  likes  o'  your  honor, 
that  explained  the  ins  and  the  outs  iv  it,  to  me,  and  laid 
it  all  down  as  plain  as  prent." 

"Are  you  sure  you  remember  my  directions?"  said 
the  captain. 

"  Troth  an  I  '11  niver  forget  them  to  the  day  o'  my 
death,  and  is  bound  to  pray,  more  betoken,  for  you  and 
yours." 

"  Don't  mind  praying  for  me  till  you  gst  home,  Barny ; 
but  answer  me,  how  are  you  to  steer  when  you  shall  leave 
me?" 

"  The  nor-aist  coorse,  your  honor,  that 's  the  coorse 
agin  the  world." 

"  Remember  that !  Never  alter  that  course  till  you 
see  land,  —  let  nothing  make  you  turn  out  of  a  northeast 
course." 

"Throth  an'  that  would  be  the  dirty  turn,  secin'  that 
it  was  yourself  that  ordhered  it.  0  no,  I  '11  depend  my 
life  an  the  nor-ai-st  coorse,  and  God  help  any  that  comes 
betune  me  an'  it,  —  I  'd  run  him  down  if  he  was  my 
father." 


40  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"Well,  good  by,  Barny." 

"  Good  by,  and  God  bless  you,  your  honor,  and  send 
you  safe." 

"  That 's  a  wish  you  want  for  yourself,  Barny,  —  never 
fear  for  me,  but  mind  yourself  well." 

"  0,  sure,  I  'm  as  good  as  at  home  wanst  I  know  the 
way,  barrin'  the  whid  is  couthrary;  sure  the  nor-aist 
coorse  '11  do  the  business  complate.  Good  by,  your 
honor,  and  long  life  to  you,  and  more  power  to  your 
elbow,  and  a  hght  heart  and  a  heavy  purse  to  you  ever- 
more, I  pray  the  blessed  Virgin  and  all  the  saints, 
amin ! "  And  so  saying,  Barny  descended  the  ship's 
side,  and  once  more  assumed  the  helm  of  the  "hardy 
hooker." 

The  two  vessels  now  separated  on  their  opposite 
courses.  What  a  contrast  their  relative  situations  af- 
forded !  Proudly  the  ship  bore  away  under  her  lofty 
and  spreading  canvas,  cleaving  the  billows  before  her, 
manned  by  an  able  crew,  and  under  the  guidance  of 
experienced  officers;  the  finger  of  science  to  point  the 
course  of  her  progress,  the  faithful  chart  to  warn  of 
the  hidden  rock  and  the  shoal,  the  long  line  and  the 
quadrant  to  measure  her  march  and  prove  her  position. 
The  poor  Uttlc  hooker  cleft  not  tlie  billows,  each  wave 
lifted  her  on  its  crest  like  a  sea-bird ;  but  the  three  in- 
experienced fishermen  to  manage  her ;  no  certain  means 
to  guide  them  over  the  vast  ocean  they  had  to  traverse, 
and  the  holding  of  the  "  fickle  wind  "  the  only  chance 
of  their  escape  from  perishing  in  the  wilderness  of  wa- 
ters. By  the  one,  the  feeling  excited  is  supremely  that 
of  man's  power.    By  the  other,  of  his  utter  helplessness. 


BARNY    O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.         41 

To  the  one,  the  expanse  of  ocean  could  scarcely  be 
considered  "trackless."  To  the  other,  it  was  a  waste 
indeed. 

Yet  the  cheer  that  burst  from  the  ship,  at  parting,  was 
answered  as  gayly  from  the  hooker  as  though  the  odds 
had  not  been  so  fearfully  against  her,  and  no  blither 
heart  beat  on  board  the  ship  than  that  of  Barny  O'Reir- 
don. 

Happy  light-heartedness  of  my  countrymen !  How 
kindly  have  they  been  fortified  by  nature  against  the 
assaults  of  adversity;  and  if  they  blindly  rush  into 
dangers,  they  cannot  be  denied  the  possession  of  gal- 
lant hearts  to  fight  their  way  out  of  them. 

But  each  hurrah  became  less  audible ;  by  degrees  the 
cheers  dwindled  into  faintness,  and  finally  were  lost  in 
the  eddies  of  the  breeze. 

The  first  feeling  of  loneliness  that  poor  Baniy  expe- 
rienced was  when  he  could  no  longer  hear  the  exhil- 
arating sound.  The  plash  of  the  surge,  as  it  broke  on 
the  bows  of  his  little  boat,  was  uninternxpted  by  the 
kindred  sound  of  human  voice ;  and,  as  it  fell  upon  his 
car,  it  smote  upon  his  heart.  But  he  replied,  waved  his 
hat,  and  the  silent  signal  was  answered  from  those  on 
board  the  ship. 

"  Well,  Barny,"  said  Jemmy,  "  what  was  the  captain 
sayin'  to  you  at  the  time  you  wor  wid  him  ?  " 

"  Lay  me  alone,"  said  Barny,  "  I  '11  talk  to  you  when 
I  see  her  out  o'  sight,  but  not  a  word  till  thin.  I  '11 
look  aftlier  him,  the  rale  gintleman  that  he  is,  while 
there  's  a  topsail  of  his  ship  to  be  seen,  and  then  I  '11 
send  my  blessin'  afther  him,  and  pray  for  his  good  for- 


4!»  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

tune  M'herever  he  goes,  for  lie 's  the  riglit  sort  and 
nothin'  else."  And  Barny  kept  his  word,  and  when  iiis 
straining  eye  could  no  longer  trace  a  line  of  the  ship, 
the  captain  certainly  had  the  benefit  of  "  a  poor  man's 
blessing." 

The  sense  of  utter  lonehness  and  desolation  had  not 
come  upon  Barny  until  now;  but  he  put  his  trust  in 
the  goodness  of  Providence,  and  in  a  fervent  mental 
outpouring  of  prayer  resigned  himself  to  the  care  of 
liis  Creator.  With  an  admirable  fortitude,  too,  he  as- 
sumed a  composure  to  his  companions  that  was  a  stran- 
ger to  his  heart ;  and  we  all  know  how  the  burden  of 
anxiety  is  increased  when  we  have  none  with  whom  to 
sympathize.  And  this  was  not  all.  He  had  to  aifect 
ease  and  confidence,  for  Barny  not  only  had  no  depend- 
ence on  the  firmness  of  his  companions  to  go  through 
the  undertaking  before  them,  but  dreaded  to  betray  to 
them  how  he  had  imposed  on  them  in  the  affair.  Barny 
was  equal  to  all  this.  He  had  a  stout  heart,  and  was 
an  admirable  actor;  yet,  for  the  first  hour  after  the  ship 
was  out  of  sight,  he  could  not  quite  recover  himself,  and 
every  now  and  then,  unconsciously,  he  would  look  back 
with  a  wishful  eye  to  the  point  where  last  he  saw  her. 
Poor  Barny  had  lost  his  leader. 

The  night  fell,  and  Barny  stuck  to  the  helm  as  long 
as  nature  could  sustain  want  of  rest,  and  then  left  it  in 
charge  of  one  of  his  companions,  with  particular  direc- 
tions how  to  steer,  and  ordered,  if  any  change  in  the 
wind  occurred,  that  they  should  instantly  awake  him. 
He  could  not  sleep  long,  however;  the  fever  of  anxiety 
was  upon  liim,  and  the  morning  had  not  long  dawned 


BARNY    O'REIRDON   THE    NAVIGATOR.         43 

when  he  awoke.  He  had  not  well  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
looked  about  hun,  when  he  thought  he  saw  a  ship  in  the 
distance  approaching  them.  As  the  haze  cleared  away, 
she  showed  distinctly  bearing  down  toward  the  hooker. 
On  board  the  ship,  the  hooker,  iu  such  a  sea,  caused  sur- 
prise as  before,  and  in  about  an  hour  she  was  so  close  as 
to  hail,  and  order  the  hooker  to  run  under  her  lee. 

"  The  devil  a  taste,"  said  Baruy.  "  I  '11  not  quit  my 
nor-aist  coorse  for  the  king  of  Ingland,  nor  Bouyparty 
into  the  bargain.  Bad  cess  to  you,  do  you  think  1  've 
nothin'  to  do  but  plaze  you  ?  " 

Again  he  was  hailed. 

"  Oh !  bad  luck  to  the  toe  I  'II  go  to  you." 

Another  hail. 

"  Spake  loudher  you  'd  betther,"  said  Barny,  jeeringly, 
still  holding  on  his  course. 

A  gun  was  fired  ahead  of  him. 

"By  my  sowl  you  spoke  loudher  that  time,  sure 
enough,"  said  Barny. 

"Take  care,  Baruy,"  cried  Jemmy  and  Peter  together. 
"  Blur-an-agers,  man,  we  '11  be  kilt  if  you  don't  go  to 
them." 

"  Well,  and  we  '11  be  lost  if  we  turn  out  iv  our  nor- 
aist  coorse,  and  that 's  as  broad  as  it 's  long.  Let  them 
hit  iz  if  they  like ;  sure  it  ud  be  a  pleasanter  death  nor 
starvin'  at  say.  I  tell  you  agin  I  '11  turn  out  o'  my  nor- 
aist  coorse  for  no  man." 

A  siiotted  gun  was  fired.  Tlie  shot  hopped  on  the 
water  as  it  passed  before  the  hooker. 

"  Pliew !  you  missed  it,  like  your  mammy's  blessin'," 
said  Barny. 


44  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  0  raurtber !  "  said  Jemmy,  "  did  n't  you  see  the  ball 
bop  aff  tbe  wather  foruinst  you.  O  murther,  wbat  'ud 
we  ba'  done  if  we  wor  tliere  at  all  at  all  ?  " 

"Why,  we'd  bave  taken  tbe  ball  at  tbe  bop,"  said 
Barny,  laughing,  "accordin'  to  tbe  ould  sayin'." 

Another  shot  was  ineifectually  fired. 

"  I  'm  thinking  that 's  a  Connaughtman  that 's  shoot- 
in',"  said  Barny,  with  a  sneer.*  The  allusion  was  so 
relished  by  Jemmy  and  Peter,  that  it  excited  a  smile  iu 
the  midst  of  their  fears  from  the  cannonade. 

Again  tbe  report  of  tbe  gun  was  followed  by  no  dam- 
age. 

"  Augb !  never  heed  them ! "  said  Barny,  contempt- 
uously. " '  It 's  a  barkin'  dog  that  never  bites,'  as  the 
owld  sayin'  says."  And  the  booker  was  soon  out  of 
reach  of  further  annoyance. 

"  Now,  what  a  pity  it  was,  to  be  sure,"  said  Barny, 
"  that  I  would  n't  go  aboord  to  plaze  them.  Now  who  's 
right  ?  Ah,  lave  me  alone  always,  Jimmy ;  did  you  iver 
know  me  wrong  yet  ?  " 

"  O,  you  may  billow  now  that  you  are  out  o'  the  wood, 
said  Jemmy,  "  but,  accordiu'  to  my  idays,  it  was  ruuniu' 
a  grate  risk  to  be  contbrary  wid  them  at  all,  and  they 
shootin'  balls  aftlier  us." 

"  Well,  what  mattber  ?  "  said  Baniy,  "  since  they  woi 
only  blind  gunners,  atC  I  knew  it ;  besides,  as  I  said 
afore,  I  won't  turn  out  o'  my  nor-aist  coorse  for  no 
man." 

*  This  is  an  allusion  of  Baniy's  to  a  prevalent  saying  in 
Ireland,  addressed  to  a  sportsman  who  returns  home  unsuc« 
cessful,  "  So  you  've  killed  wbat  the  Connaughtman  shot  at." 


BARNY    O'REIRDON   THE    NAVIGATOR.         45 

"  That 's  a  new  turn  you  tuk  lately,"  said  Peter. 
"  What 's  the  raison  you  're  runnin'  a  nor-aist  coorse 
now,  an'  we  never  hear'd  iv  it  afore  at  all,  till  afther 
you  quitted  the  big  ship  ?  " 

"  Why,  thin,  are  you  sich  an  ignoramus  all  out,"  said 
Bamy,  "  as  not  for  to  know  that  in  navigation  you  must 
lie  an  a  great  many  different  tacks  before  you  can  make 
the  port  you  steer  for  ?  " 

"  Only  I  think,"  said  Jemmy,  "  that  it 's  back  intirely 
we  're  goin'  now,  and  I  can't  make  out  the  rights  o'  that 
at  all." 

"  Why,"  said  Bamy,  who  saw  the  necessity  of  mys- 
tifying his  companions  a  little,  "you  see,  the  captain 
towld  me  that  I  kum  around,  an'  rekimminded  me  to 
go  ih'  other  \?ay." 

"Faix,  it 's  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  o'  goin'  round 
by  say,"  said  Jemmy. 

"  Arrah,  sure,  that 's  part  o'  the  saycrets  o'  naviga- 
tion, and  the  varrious  branches  o'  knowledge  that  is 
requizit  for  a  navigator ;  and  that 's  what  the  captain, 
God  bless  him,  and  myself  was  discoorsin'  an  aboord ; 
and,  like  a  rale  gintleman  as  he  is,  Bamy,  says  he ;  Sir, 
says  I ;  you  've  come  the  round,  says  he.  I  know  that, 
says  I,  bekase  I  like  to  keep  a  good  bowld  offin',  says  I, 
in  contrairy  places.  Spoke  like  a  good  sayman,  says  he. 
That 's  my  principles,  says  I.  They  're  tlie  right  sort, 
says  he.  But,  says  he  (no  offence),  I  think  you  wor 
wrong,  says  he,  to  pass  the  short  turn  in  the  ladie- 
shoes,*  says  he.     I  know,  says  I,  you  mane  beside  the 

*  Some  offer  Baruy  is  making  at  latitudes. 


46  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

three-spike  headlan'.  That 's  the  spot,  says  he,  I  see 
you  know  it.     As  well  as  I  know  my  fatiier,  says  I." 

"Why,  Bamy,"  said  Jemmy,  interrupting  him,  "we 
seen  no  headlan'  at  all." 

"Whisht,  whisht!"  said  Barny,  "bad  cess  to  you, 
don't  thwart  me.  We  passed  it  in  the  night,  and  you 
could  n't  see  it.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  knew  it  as 
well  as  I  know  my  father,  says  I,  but  I  gev  the  prefer- 
ence to  go  the  round,  says  I.  You  're  a  good  saymau 
for  that  same,  says  he,  an'  it  would  be  riglit  at  any  other 
time  than  this  present,  says  he,  but  it 's  onpossible  now, 
tee-totally,  on  account  o'  the  war,  says  he.  Tare  alive, 
says  I,  what  war  ?  An'  did  n't  you  liear  o'  the  war  ? 
says  he.  DIvil  a  word,  says  I.  Why,  says  he,  the  nay- 
gers  has  made  war  on  the  king  o'  Chaynee,  says  he,  be- 
kase  he  refused  them  any  more  tay ;  an'  with  that,  what 
did  they  do,  says  he,  but  they  put  a  lumbargo  on  all  the 
vessels  that  sails  the  round,  an'  that 's  the  rayson,  says 
he,  I  carry  guns,  as  you  may  see ;  and  I  rekimmind  you, 
says  he,  to  go  back,  for  you  're  not  able  for  thim,  and 
that 's  jist  the  way  iv  it.  An'  now,  was  n't  it  looky  that 
I  kem  acrass  him  at  all,  or  maybe  wc  might  be  cotch  by 
the  naygers,  and  ate  up  alive." 

"0,  thin,  indeed,  and  that's  thruc,"  said  Jemmy  and 
Peter,  "and  whin  will  we  come  to  the  short  turn ? " 

"  0,  never  mind,"  said  Bamy,  "  you  'II  see  it  when 
you  get  there ;  but  wait  till  I  tell  you  more  about  the 
captain,  and  the  big  shi]).  He  said,  you  know,  that  he 
carried  guns  afeard  o'  the  naygers,  and  in  troth  it's  the 
hoight  o'  care  he  takes  o'  them  same  guns ;  and  small 
blame  to  him,  sure  they  might  be  the  salvation  of  him. 


BAUXY    O'llEIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.         47 

'Pou  my  conscience,  they  're  taken  betther  care  of  than 
auy  poor  man's  child.  I  heard  him  cautionin'  the  sail- 
ors about  them,  and  giv^in'  them  ordhers  about  their 
clothes." 

"  Their  clothes  !  "  said  his  two  companions  at  once,  in 
much  surprise  ;  "  is  it  clothes  upon  cannons  ?  " 

"  It 's  thruth  I  'm  teUin'  you,"  said  Baray.  "  Bad 
luck  to  the  lie  in  it,  he  was  talkin'  about  their  aprons 
and  their  breeches." 

"  O,  think  o'  that ! "  said  Jemmy  and  Peter,  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  An'  't  was  all  iv  a  piece,"  said  Barny,  "  that  an'  the 
rest  o'  the  ship  all  out.  She  was  as  nate  as  a  new  pin. 
Throth,  I  was  a'most  ashamed  to  put  my  fut  on  the 
deck,  it  was  so  elane,  and  she  painted  every  color  in 
the  rainbow ;  and  aU  sorts  o'  curiosities  about  her ; 
and  instead  iv  a  tiller  to  steer  her,  like  this  darlin' 
craythur  iv  ours,  she  goes  wid  a  wheel,  like  a  coach  all 
as  one  ;  and  there  's  the  quarest  thing  you  iver  seen,  to 
show  the  way,  as  ths  captain  gev  me  to  uuderstan',  a 
little  round  rowly-powly  thing  in  a  bowl,  that  goes  wad- 
dliu'  about  as  if  it  didn't  know  its  own  way,  mucii 
more  nor  show  anybody  theirs.  Tiiroth,  myself  thought 
that  if  that 's  the  way  they  're  obliged  to  go,  that  it 's 
with  a  great  deal  of  fear  and  thrimblin'  they  find  it  out." 

Thus  it  was  that  Barny  continued  most  marvellous 
accounts  of  the  ship  and  tlie  captain  to  his  companions, 
and  by  keeping  their  attention  so  engaged,  prevented 
their  being  too  inquisitive  as  to  tliair  own  immediate 
concerns,  and  for  two  days  more  Barny  and  the  hooker 
held  ou  their  resiwctive  courses  undeviatiugly. 


48  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

The  third  day  Barny's  fears  for  the  continuity  of  Ijis 
nor-uist  coorse  "were  excited,  as  a  large  brig  hove  in 
sight,  and  the  nearer  she  approached,  the  more  di- 
rectly she  appeared  to  be  coming  athwart  Barny's 
course. 

"May  the  divil  sweep  you,"  said  Bamy,  "and  will 
nothin'  else  sarve  you  than  comiu'  fomiust  me  that 
away  ?  Brig-a-hoy  there  !  "  shouted  Bamy,  giving  the 
tiller  to  one  of  his  messmates,  and  standing  at  the  bow  of 
his  boat.  "Brig-a-hoy  there  !  —  bad  luck  to  you,  go  'long 
out  o'  my  nor-uist  coorse.'"  The  brig,  instead  of  obey- 
ing him,  hove  to,  and  lay  right  ahead  of  the  hooker. 
"  O,  look  at  this !  "  shouted  Barny,  and  he  stamped  on 
the  deck  with  rage,  —  "  look  at  the  blackguards  where 
they're  stayin',  just  a-purpose  to  ruin  an  unfortunate 
man  like  me.  My  heavy  hathred  to  you,  quit  this 
minit,  or  I'll  run  down  an  yes,  and  if  we  go  to  the 
bottom,  we  '11  haunt  you  forevermore,  —  go  'long  out  o' 
that,  I  tell  you.  The  curse  o'  Crummil  on  you,  you 
stupid  vagabones,  that  won't  go  out  iv  a  man's  nor- 
aist  coorse !  " 

From  cursing  Bamy  went  to  praying  as  he  came 
closer.  "  For  the  tendher  marcy  o'  heaven  an'  lave  my 
way.  May  the  Lord  reward  you,  and  get  out  o'  my  nor- 
aist  coorse !  May  angels  make  your  bed  in  heaviu  and 
don't  ruinate  me  this  a  way."  The  brig  was  immovable, 
and  Barny  finished  with  a  duet  volley  of  prayers  and 
curses  together,  apostrophizing  the  hard  case  of  a  mau 
being  "  done  out  o'  his  uor-aist  coorse." 

"  A-hoy  there  !  "  shouted  a  voice  from  the  brig,  "  put 
down  your  helm  or  you  '11  be  aboard  of  us.     I  say,  let 


BARNY    O'UEIIIDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  49 

go  your  jib  and  foresheet,  —  what  are  you  about,  you 
lubbers  ?  " 

'T  was  true  that  the  brig  lay  so  fair  in  Barny's  course, 
that  he  would  have  been  aboard,  but  that  instantly  the 
manoeuvre  above  alluded  to  was  put  in  practice  on  board 
the  hooker;  as  she  swept  to  destruction  toward  the 
heavy  hull  of  the  brig,  he  luffed  up  into  the  wuid  along- 
side her.  A  very  pale  and  somewhat  emaciated  face 
appeared  at  the  side,  and  addressed  Barny. 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?  "  was  the  question. 

"  Throth,  thin,  aud  I  think  I  might  betther  ax  what 
brings  you  here,  right  in  the  way  o'  my  nor-aist  coorse." 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  Kinsale  ;  aud  you  did  n't  come  from  a  betther 
place,  I  go  bail." 

"  Wiiere  are  you  bound  to  ?  " 

"ToPingal."' 

"  Fingal,  —  where  's  Fingal  ?  " 

"  Why  then,  ain't  you  ashamed  o'  yourself  an'  not  to 
know  where  Fingal  is  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  in  these  seas." 

"  O,  and  that 's  all  you  know  about  it,"  says  Barny. 

"  You  're  a  small  craft  to  be  so  far  at  sea.  I  suppose 
you  have  provisions  on  board  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  we  have  ;  throth  if  we  had  u't,  this  id  be 
a  bad  place  to  go  a  beggin'." 

"  What  have  you  eatable  ?  " 

"  The  finest  o'  scalpeens." 

"  What  are  scalpeens  ?  " 

"  Why,  you're  mighty  ignorant  intirely,"  said  Barny; 
"why,  scalpeens  is  pickled  mackerel." 

VOL.    IX.  3  D 


50  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"Then  you  miist  give  us  some,  for  we  have  been  oiit 
of  everytliiug  eatable  tliese  three  days  ;  aud  eveu  pickled 
fish  is  better  than  nothing." 

It  chanced  that  the  brig  was  a  West  India  trader, 
which  unfavorable  winds  had  delayed  much  beyond  the 
expected  period  of  time  on  her  voyage,  aud  though  her 
water  had  not  failed,  everything  eatable  had  been  con- 
sumed, and  the  crew  reduced  almost  to  helplessness.  lu 
such  a  strait  the  arrival  of  Barny  O'Reirdon  and  his 
scalpeens  was  a  most  providential  succor  to  them,  and 
a  lucky  chance  for  Barny,  for  he  got  in  exchange  for  his 
pickled  fish  a  handsome  return  of  rum  and  sugar,  much 
more  than  equivalent  to  their  value.  Barny  lamented 
much,  however,  that  the  brig  was  not  bound  for  Ire- 
land, that  he  might  practice  his  own  peculiar  system  of 
navigation ;  but  as  staying  with  the  brig  could  do  no 
good,  he  got  himself  put  into  his  nor-aist  coorse  once 
more,  and  ploughed  away  toward  home. 

The  disposal  of  his  cargo  was  a  great  godsend  to 
Barny  in  more  vi^ays  than  one.  In  the  first  place,  he 
found  the  most  profitable  market  he  could  have  had ; 
and,  secondly,  it  enabled  him  to  cover  his  retreat  from 
the  difiiculty  which  still  was  before  him  of  not  getting 
to  Fuigal  after  all  his  dangers,  and  consequently  being 
open  to  discovery  and  disgrace.  All  these  beneficial 
results  were  thrown  away  upon  one  of  Barny's  readi- 
ness to  avail  himself  of  every  point  in  his  favor :  and, 
accordingly,  when  they  left  the  brig,  Barny  said  to  his 
companions,  "  Why,  thin,  boys,  'pon  my  conscience,  but 
I  'm  as  proud  as  a  horse  wid  a  wooden  leg  tliis  rninit, 
that   we    nu!t   them    poor    uufort'nate    craythers    this 


BARNY   O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.         51 

blessed  day,  and  was  enabled  to  extind  our  cbarity  to 
them.  Sure,  an'  it 's  lost  they  'd  be  ouly  for  our  com  in' 
acrass  them,  and  we,  through  the  blesshi'  o'  God,  en- 
abled to  do  an  act  o'  marcy,  that  is,  feedin'  the  hungry ; 
aud  sure  every  good  work  we  do  here  is  before  uz  in 
heaven, — and  that's  a  comfort  anyhow.  To  be  sure, 
now  that  the  scalpeeus  is  sowld,  there  's  no  use  in 
goin'  to  Fingal,  and  we  may  as  well  jist  go  home." 

"  Faix,  I  'm  sorry  myself,"  said  Jemmy,  "  for  Terry 
O'SuUivan  said  it  was  an  iligaut  place  intirely,  an'  I 
wanted  to  see  it." 

"To  the  divil  wid  Terry  .O'Sullivau,"  said  Barny ; 
"  how  does  he  know  what 's  an  iligant  place  ?  Wiiat 
knowledge  has  he  of  iligance !  I  '11  go  bail  he  never  was 
half  as  far  a  navigatin'  as  we,  —  he  wint  the  short  cut, 
I  go  bail,  and  never  dar'd  for  to  vinture  the  round,  as 
I  did." 

"  By  dad,  we  wor  a  great  dale  longer  anyhow  than  he 
towld  me  he  was." 

"  To  be  sure  we  wor,"  said  Barny ;  "  he  wint 
skulkin'  in  by  the  short  cut,  I  tell  you,  and  was  afeard 
to  keep  a  bowld  offin'  like  me.  But  come,  boys,  let  uz 
take  a  dhrop  o'  the  bottle  o'  sper'ts  we  got  out  o'  the 
brig.  By  gor,  it 's  well  we  got  some  bottles  iv  it ;  for  I 
would  n't  much  like  to  meddle  wid  that  darlint  little  kag 
iv  it  antil  we  get  homa."  The  rum  was  put  on  its  trial 
by  Barny  and  his  companions,  and  in  their  critical  judg- 
ment was  pronounced  quite  as  good  as  the  captain  of 
the  ship  had  bestowed  upon  thain,  but  that  neither  of 
those  specimens  of  spirit  was  to  be  compared  to  whiskey. 
"  By  dad,"  says  Barny,  "  they  may  rack  their  brains  a 


52  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

long  time  before  they  '11  make  out  a  purtier  invintion 
than  potteen,  —  that  rum  may  do  very  well  f(U"  thim 
that  has  the  misfortliiu'  not  to  know  betther ;  but  the 
whiskey  is  a  more  uathral  sper't  accordin'  to  my  idays." 
In  this,  as  in  most  other  of  Baruy's  opinions,  Peter  and 
Jemmy  comcided. 

Nothing  particular  occurred  for  the  two  succeeding 
days,  during  which  time  Burny  most  religiously  pursued 
his  nor-aist  coorse,  but  the  third  day  produced  a  new  and 
important  event.  A  sail  was  discovered  on  the  horizon, 
and  in  the  direction  Bamy  was  steering,  and  a  couple 
of  hours  made  him  tolerably  certain  that  the  vessel  in 
sight  was  an  American,  for  though  it  is  needless  to  say 
that  he  was  not  very  conversant  in  such  matters,  yet 
from  the  frequency  of  his  seeing  Americans  trading  to 
Ireland,  his  eye  had  become  sufficiently  accustomed  to 
their  lofty  and  tapering  spars,  and  peculiar  smartness 
of  rig,  to  satisfy  him  that  the  ship  before  him  was  of 
transatlantic  build;  nor  was  he  wrong  in  his  conjec- 
ture. 

Bamy  now  determined  on  a  manoeuvre,  classing  him 
among  the  first  tacticians  at  securing  a  good  retreat. 

Moreau's  highest  fame  rests  upon  las  celebrated  ret- 
rograde movement  through  tlie  Black  Forest. 

Xenophon's  greatest  glory  is  derived  from  the  deliver- 
ance of  his  ten  thousand  Greeks  from  impending  ruin  by 
liis  renowned  retreat. 

Let  the  ancient  and  the  modern  hero  "  repose  under 
the  shadow  of  their  laurels,"  as  the  French  have  it, 
while  Barny  O'Reirdou's  historian,  with  a  pardonable 
jealousy  for  the  honor  of  his  country,  cuts   down  » 


BARNY    O'REIRDON   THE    NAVIGATOR.  53 

goodly  bougli  of  the  classic  tree,  beneath  which  our 
Hiberuian  hero  may  enjoy  his  otium  cum  dignitate. 

Barny  calculated  the  American  was  bound  for  Ireland, 
and  as  she  lay  almoxt  as  directly  in  the  way  of  his  "  nor- 
aist  coorse  "  as  the  Wcst-Iudiau  brig,  he  bore  up  to  and 
spoke  her. 

He  was  answered  by  a  shrewd  Yankee  captain. 

"  Faix,  an'  it 's  glad  I  am  to  see  your  honor  again," 
said  Barny. 

Tlie  Yankee  had  never  been  to  Ireland,  and  told 
Barny  so. 

"  O,  tliroth,  I  could  n't  forget  a  gintleman  so  aisy  as 
that,"  said  Barny. 

"  You  're  pretty  considerably  mistaken  now,  I  guess," 
said  the  American. 

"  Divil  a  taste,"  said  Barny,  with  inimitable  compo- 
sure and  pertinacity. 

"  Well,  if  you  know  me  so  tarnation  well,  tell  me 
what  !s  my  nanie."  The  Yankee  flattered  himself  he 
had  nailed  Barny  now. 

"  Your  name,  is  it  ?  "  said  Baniy,  gaining  time  by 
repeating  the  question  ;  "  wliy,  what  a  fool  you  are  not 
to  know  your  own  name." 

The  oddity  of  the  answer  posed  the  American,  and 
Barny  took  advantage  of  the  diversion  in  his  favor,  and 
changsd  the  conversation. 

"  By  dad,  I  've  been  waitin'  here  these  four  or  Ave 
days,  expcetin'  some  of  you  would  be  wantin'  me." 

"  Some  of  us  !  —  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Sure,  an'  ar'  n't  you  from  Amerikay  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  what  Ihen  ?  " 


54  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Well,  I  say  I  was  waitin'  for  some  ship  or  other 
from  Anierikay,  that  ud  be  wantin'  me.  It 's  to  Ii'eland 
you  're  goin'  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  '11  be  wantin'  a  pilot,"  said  Bamy. 

"  Yes,  when  we  get  in  shore,  but  not  yet." 

"  O,  I  don't  want  to  hurry  you,"  said  Bamy. 

"  What  port  are  you  a  pilot  of  ?  " 

"  Why,  indeed,  as  for  the  matther  o'  tliat,"  said  Barny, 
"they're  all  aiqual  to  me  a'most." 

"  All  ?  "  said  the  American.  "  Why,  I  calculate  you 
could  n't  pilot  a  ship  into  all  the  ports  of  Ireland." 

"  Not  all  at  wanst,"  said  Barny,  with  a  laugh,  in  which 
the  American  could  not  help  joining. 

"  Well,  I  say,  what  ports  do  you  know  best  ?  " 

"  Why,  thin,  indeed,"  said  Barny,  "  it  would  be  hard 
for  me  to  tell ;  but  wherever  you  want  to  go,  I  'm  the 
man  that  '11  do  the  job  for  you  complate.  Where  is  your 
honor  goin'  ?  " 

"  I  won't  tell  you  that,  —  but  do  you  tell  me  what 
ports  you  know  best  ? " 

"  Why,  there  's  Watherford,  and  there 's  Youghal,  an' 
Fingal." 

"  Fingal,  —  where 's  that  ?  " 

"  So  you  don't  know  where  Fingal  is.  O,  I  sec  you  're 
a  stliranger,  sir,  — an'  then  there  's  Cork." 

"  You  know  Cove,  then  ?  " 

"  Is  it  the  Cove  o'  Cork  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  was  bred  and  born  there,  and  pilots  as  many  ships 
into  Cove  as  any  other  two  min  out  of  it." 


BARNY   O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  55 

Barny  thus  sheltered  his  falsehood  under  the  idiom  of 
liis  language. 

"  But  what  brought  you  so  far  out  to  sea  ?  "  asked 
the  captain. 

"  We  wor  lyin'  out  lookin'  for  ships  that  wanted 
pilots,  and  there  kern  an  the  terriblest  gale  o'  wind  aff 
the  land,  an'  blew  us  to  say  out  intirely,  an'  that 's  the 
way  iv  it,  your  honor." 

"  I  calculate  we  got  a  share  of  the  same  gale ;  't  was 
from  the  nor-east." 

"  O,  directly  !  "  said  Barny,  "  faith,  you  're  right 
enough.  'T  was  the  nor-aist  coorse  we  wor  an  sure 
enough  ;  but  no  matther  now  that  we  've  met  wid  you, 
—  sure  we  '11  have  a  job  home  anyhow." 

"  Well,  get  aboard  then,"  said  the  American. 

"  I  will,  in  a  minit,  your  honor,  whin  I  jist  spake  a 
word  to  my  comrades  here." 

"  Why,  sure  it 's  not  goin'  to  turn  pilot  you  are,"  said 
Jemmy,  in  his  simplicity  of  heart. 

"  Whisht,  you  omadhaun  !  "  said  Barny,  "  or  I  '11  cut 
the  tongue  out  o'  you.  Now  mind  me,  Pether.  You 
don't  undherstan'  navigashin  and  the  varrious  branches 
o'  knowledge,  an'  so  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  folly  the 
ship  when  I  get  into  her,  an'  I  '11  show  you  the  way 
home." 

Barny  then  got  aboard  the  American  vessel,  and 
begged  of  the  captain,  that  as  he  had  been  out  at  sea 
so  long,  and  had  gone  through  "a  power  o'  hardship 
intirely,"  he  would  be  permitted  to  go  below  and  turn 
in  to  take  a  sleep,  "  for  in  throth  it 's  myself  and  sleep 
that  is  sthrayngers  for  some  time,"  said  Barny,  "  an'  if 


56  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

your  honor  '11  be  plazecl  I  '11  be  thankful  if  you  won't 
let  them  disturb  nie  luitil  I  'ra  M'aiited,  for  sure  till  you 
see  the  laud  there 's  no  use  for  me  in  life,  an'  throth  I 
want  a  sleep  sorely." 

Barny's  request  was  granted,  and  it  will  not  be  won- 
dered at,  that  after  so  much  fatigue  of  mind  and  body, 
lie  slept  profoundly  for  four-and-twenty  hours.  He  then 
was  called,  for  laud  was  in  sight,  and  when  he  came.-0u 
deck  the  captain  rallied  him  upon  the  potency  of  his 
somniferous  qualities,  and  "  calculated  "  he  had  never 
met  any  one  who  could  sleep  "  four-aud-twenty  hours 
at  a  stretch  before." 

"  0  sir,"  said  Barny,  rubbuig  his  eyes,  which  were 
still  a  little  hazy,  "  whiniver  I  go  to  sleep  I  pay  attiu- 
lion  to  it." 

The  land  was  soon  neared,  and  Barny  put  in  charge 
of  the  ship,  when  he  ascertained  the  first  landmark  he 
was  acquainted  with;  but  as  soon  as  the  Head  of  Kin- 
sale  hove  in  sight,  Barny  gave  a  "whoo,"  and  cut  a 
caper  that  astonished  the  Yankees,  and  was  quite  inex- 
plicable to  them,  though,  I  flatter  myself,  it  is  not  to 
those  who  do  Barny  the  favor  of  reading  his  adven- 
tures. 

"  O,  -there  you  are,  my  darlint  ould  head  !  An' 
where 's  the  head  like  o'  you?  Throlh,  it's  little  I 
thought  I  'd  ever  set  eyes  an  your  good-looking  fay- 
tures  agin.     But  God  's  good  !  " 

In  such  half-muttered  exclamations,  did  Barny  apos- 
trophize each  well-known  point  of  his  native  shore,  and 
when  opposite  the  harbor  of  Kinsalc,  he  spoke  the 
hooker  that  was  somewhat  astern,  and  ordered  Jemmy 


BARNY    O'REIRDON    THE    NAVIGATOR.  57 

and  Peter  to  put  in  there,  and  tell  Molly  immediately 
tliat  he  was  come  back,  and  would  be  with  her  as  soon 
as  he  could,  after  piloting  the  ship  into  Cove.  "  But 
an  your  apperl  don't  tell  Pother  Kelly  o'  the  big  farm, 
nor,  indeed,  don't  mintion  to  man  or  mortial  about  the 
navigation  we  done  antil  I  come  home  myself  and  make 
them  sensible  o'  it,  bekase.  Jemmy  and  Pether,  neither  o' 
yiz  is  aqual  to  it,  and  does  n't  undherstau'  the  branches 
o'  knowledge  requizit  for  discoorsin'  o'  navigation." 

The  hooker  put  into  Kinsale,  and  Barily  sailed  the 
ship  into  Cove.  It  was  the  first  ship  he  ever  had  acted 
the  pilot  for,  and  his  old  luck  attended  him ;  no  accident 
befell  his  charge,  and,  what  was  still  more  extraordinary, 
he  made  the  American  believe  he  was  absolutely  the 
most  skilful  pilot  on  the  station.  So  Barny  pocketed  his 
pilot's  fee,  swore  the  Yankee  was  a  gentleman,  for  which 
the  repubhean  did  not  thank  him,  M'ished  him  good  by, 
and  then  pushed  his  way  home  with  what  Barny  swore 
was  the  aisiest-made  money  he  ever  had  in  his  life.  So 
Barny  got  himself  paid  for  piloting  the  ship  that  showed 
Mm  the  way  home. 


3» 


^ 

^M 

^^ 

HADDAD-BEN-AHAB  THE  TRAVELLER. 


BY  JOHN  GALT. 


A.DDAD-BEN-AHAB  was  a  very  wise  man, 
and  he  had  several  friends,  men  of  discernment, 
and  partakers  of  the  wisdom  of  ages ;  but  tliey 
were  not  all  so  wise  as  Haddad-Ben-Aliab.  His  sen- 
tences were  sliort,  but  liis  knowledge  was  long,  and 
what  he  predicted  generally  came  to  pass,  for  he  did  not 
pretend  to  the  gift  of  prophecy.  The  utmost  he  ever 
said  in  that  way  was,  that  he  expected  the  sun  to  rise 
to-morrow,  and  that  old  age  was  the  shadow  of  youth. 

Besides  being  of  a  grave  temperament,  Haddad-Ben- 
Ahab  was  inclined  to  obesity ;  he  was  kindly  and  good- 
natured  to  the  whole  human  race ;  he  even  carried  his 
benevolence  to  the  inferior  creation,  and  often  patted 
his  dogs  on  the  head  and  gave  them  bones;  but  cats 
he  could  not  abide.  Had  he  been  a  rat  he  could  not 
have  regarded  them  with  more  antipathy ;  and  yet  Had- 
dad-Ben-Ahab  was  an  excellent  man,  who  smoked  his 
chibouque  with  occasional  cups  of  coffee  and  sherbet, 
interspersed  with  profound  aphorisms  on  the  condititm 
of  man,  and  conjectures  on  the  delights  of  paradise. 


HADDAD-BEN-AHAB   THE    TRAVELLER.         59 

With  his  friends  he  passed  many  sunbright  hours; 
and  if  much  talk  was  not  heard  among  tliem  on  these 
occasions,  be  it  remembered  that  silence  is  often  wisdom. 
The  scene  of  their  social  resort  was  a  little  kiosk  in  front 
of  one  of  the  coffee-houses  on  the  bank  of  the  Tigris. 
No  place  in  all  Bagdad  is  so  pleasantly  situated.  There 
the  mighty  river  rolls  in  all  the  affluence  of  his  waters, 
pure  as  the  unclouded  sky,  and  speckled  with  innumera- 
ble boats,  while  the  rippling  waves,  tickled,  as  it  were, 
by  the  summer  breezes,  gambol  and  sparkle  around. 

The  kiosk  was  raised  two  steps  from  the  ground ;  the 
interior  was  painted  with  all  the  most  splendid  colors. 
The  roof  was  covered  with  tiles  that  glittered  like  the 
skin  of  the  Arabian  serpent,  and  was  surmounted  with 
a  green  dragon,  which  was  painted  of  that  imperial  hue, 
because  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  was  descended  from  the  sa- 
cred progeny  of  Fatima,  of  whom  green  is  the  everlast- 
ing badge,  as  it  is  of  nature.  Time  cannot  change  it, 
nor  can  it  be  impaired  by  the  decrees  of  tyranny  or  of 
justice. 

One  beautiful  day  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  and  his  friends 
had  met  in  this  kiosk  of  dreams,  and  were  socially  en- 
joying the  fragrant  smoke  of  their  pipes,  and  listening 
to  the  refreshing  undulations  of  the  river,  as  the  boats 
softly  glided  along,  —  for  the  waters  lay  in  glassy  still- 
ness, —  the  winds  were  asleep,  —  even  the  sunbeams 
seemed  to  rest  in  a  slumber  on  all  things.  The  smoke 
stood  on  the  chimney-tops  as  if  a  tall  visionary  tree  grew 
out  of  each  ;  and  the  many-colored  cloths  in  the  yard  of 
Orooblis,  the  Armenian  dyer,  hung  unmolested  by  a 
breath.     Orooblis  himself  was  the  only  thing,  iu  that 


60  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

soft  and  bright  noon,  which  appeared  on  the  land  to  be 
animated  with  any  purpose. 

Orooblis  was  jjreparuig  a  boat  to  descend  the  Tigris, 
and  his  servants  were  loading  it  with  bales  of  apparel 
and  baskets  of  provisions,  while  he  himself  was  in  a 
great  bustle,  going  often  between  his  dwelling-house  and 
the  boat,  talking  loud  and  giving  orders,  and  ever  and 
anon  wiping  his  forehead,  for  he  was  a  man  that  de- 
lighted in  having  an  ado. 

Haddad-Ben-Ahab,  seeing  Orooblis  so  active,  looked 
at  hiui  for  some  time;  and  it  so  happened  that  all  the 
friends  at  the  same  moment  took  their  amber-headed 
pipes  from  their  lips,  and  said, — 

"  Where  can  Orooblis,  the  Armenian  dyer,  be  going  ?  " 

Such  a  simultaneous  interjection  naturally  surprised 
them  all,  and  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  added, — 

"  I  should  like  to  go  with  him,  and  see  strange  things, 
for  1  have  never  been  out  of  the  city  of  Bagdad,  save 
once  to  pluck  pomegranates  in  the  garden  of  Beys-Addy- 
Boolk."  And  he  then  rose  and  went  to  the  boat  which 
Orooblis  was  loading,  and  spoke  to  him ;  and  wlien  it 
was  ready  they  seated  themselves  on  board  and  sailed 
down  the  Tigris,  having  much  pleasant  discourse  con- 
cerning distant  lands  and  hills  whose  tops  pierced  the 
clouds,  and  were  supposed  to  be  the  pillars  that  upheld 
the  crystal  dome  of  the  heavens. 

Haddad-Ben-Ahab  rejoiced  greatly  as  they  sailed 
along,  and  at  last  they  came  to  a  little  town,  where 
Orooblis,  having  business  in  dyestuffs  to  transact,  went 
on  shore,  leaving  liis  friend.  But  in  what  corner  of  the 
earth  this  little  town  stood  Haddad-Bcn-Aliab  knew  not ; 


HADDAD-BEN-AHAB   THE   TRAVELLER.        61 

for,  like  other  travellers,  he  was  not  provided  with  much 
geographical  knowledge. 

But  soon  after  the  departure  of  Orooblis  he  thought 
he  would  also  laud  aud  iuquire.  Accordingly,  taking 
his  pipe  in  his  hand,  he  stepped  out  of  the  boat  and 
went  about  the  town,  looking  at  many  things,  till  he 
came  to  a  wharf  where  a  large  ship  was  taking  merchan- 
dise on  board ;  and  her  sailors  were  men  of  a  diflereut 
complexion  from  that  of  the  watermen  who  plied  on  the 
Tigris  at  Bagdad. 

Haddad-Beu-Ahab  looked  at  them,  and  as  he  was 
standing  near  to  where  they  were  at  work,  he  thought 
that  this  ship  afforded  a  better  opportunity  than  he  had 
enjoyed  M'ith  Orooblis  to  see  foreign  countries.  He 
accordingly  went  up  to  the  captain  and  held  out  a  hand- 
fid  of  money,  aud  indicated  that  he  was  desirous  to  sail 
away  with  the  ship. 

Wiien  the  captain  saw  the  gold  he  was  mightily  civil, 
and  spoke  to  Haddad-Beu-Ahab  with  a  loud  voice,  per- 
haps thinking  to  make  him  hear  was  the  way  to  make 
him  understand.  But  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  only  held  up 
the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  and  shook-  it  to  aud  fro. 
In  the  end,  however,  he  was  taken  on  board  the  ship, 
and  no  sooner  was  he  there  than  he  sat  down  on  a  sofa, 
and  drawing  his  legs  up  under  him  kindled  his  pipe  and 
began  to  smoke,  much  at  his  ease,  making  observations 
with  his  eyes  as  he  did  so. 

The  first  observation  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  made  was, 
that  the  sofa  on  which  he  had  taken  his  place  was  not 
at  all  like  the  sofas  of  Bagdad,  and  therefore  when  he 
returned  he  would  show  that  he  had  not  travelled  with- 


6^  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

out  profit  by  having  one  made  exactly  similar  for  his 
best  chamber,  with  hens  and  ducks  under  it,  pleasantly 
feeding  and  joyously  cackling  and  quacking.  And  he 
also  observed  a  remarkable  sagacity  in  the  ducks,  for 
when  they  saw  he  was  a  stranger,  they  turned  up  the 
sides  of  their  heads  and  eyed  him  in  a  most  curious  and 
inquisitive  manner,  —  very  different,  indeed,  from  the 
ducks  of  Bagdad. 

When  the  ship  had  taken  on  board  her  cargo  she 
spread  her  sails,  and  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  felt  himself  in 
a  new  situation ;  for  presently  she  began  to  lie  over,  and 
to  plunge  and  revel  among  the  waves  like  a  glad  crea- 
ture. But  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  became  very  sick,  and 
the  captain  showed  him  the  way  down  into  the  inside 
of  the  vessel,  where  he  went  into  a  dark  bed,  and  was 
charitably  tended  by  one  of  the  sailors  for  many  days. 

After  a  season  there  was  much  shouting  on  the  deck 
of  the  ship,  and  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  crawled  out  of  his 
bed,  and  went  to  the  sofa,  and  saw  that  the  ship  was 
near  the  end  of  her  voyage. 

When  she  had  come  to  a  bank  where  those  on  board 
could  step  out,  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  did  so :  and  after  he 
had  seen  all  the  strange  things  which  were  in  the  town 
where  he  thus  landed,  he  went  into  a  baker's  shop,  —  for 
they  eat  bread  in  that  town  as  they  do  in  Bagdad,  —  and 
bought  a  loaf,  which  having  eaten,  he  quenched  his 
thirst  at  a  fountain  hard  by,  in  his  ordinary  manner  of 
drinking,  at  which  he  wondered  exceedingly. 

When  lie  had  solaced  himself  with  all  the  wonders  of 
that  foreign  city,  he  went  to  a  fakier,  who  was  holding 
two  horses  ready  saddled;  beautiful  they  were,  and,  as 


HADDAD-BEN-AHAB   THE    TRAVELLER.        63 

the  fakier  signified  by  signs,  their  hoofs  were  so  fleet 
that  they  left  the  wind  behind  them.  Haddad-Ben-Ahab 
then  showed  the  fakier  his  gold,  and  mounted  one  of 
the  horses,  pointing  with  the  shaft  of  his  pipe  to  tlie 
fakier  to  mount  the  other;  and  then  they  both  rode 
away  into  the  country,  and  they  found  that  the  wind 
blew  in  their  faces. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  caravansary,  where  the  fakier 
bought  a  cooked  hen  and  two  onions,  of  which  they  both 
partook,  and  stretching  themselves  before  the  fire  which 
they  had  lighted  in  their  chamber,  they  fell  asleep  and 
slept  until  the  dawn  of  day,  wlien  they  resumed  their 
journey  into  remoter  parts  and  nearer  to  the  wall  of  the 
world,  which  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  conjectured  they  must 
soon  reach.  They  had  not,  however,  journeyed  many 
days  in  the  usual  manner  when  they  came  to  the  banks 
of  a  large  river,  and  the  fakier  would  go  no  farther  with 
his  swift  horses.  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  was  in  consequence 
constrained  to  pay  and  part  from  him,  and  to  embark 
in  a  ferry-boat  to  convey  him  over  the  stream,  where  he 
found  a  strange  vehicle  with  four  horses  standing  ready 
to  carry  him  on  towards  the  wall  of  the  world,  "  which 
sJirely,"  said  he  to  himself,  "ought  not  to  be  now  far 
off." 

Haddad-Ben-Ahab  showed  his  gold  again,  and  was 
permitted  to  take  a  seat  in  the  vehicle,  which  soon 
after  drove  away;  and  he  remarked,  in  a  most  sagacious 
mamier,  that  nothing  in  that  country  was  like  the  things 
in  his  own ;  for  the  houses  and  trees  and  all  things  ran 
away  as  the  vehicle  came  up  to  them ;  and  when  it  gave 
a  jostle,  they  gave  a  jump;  which  he  noted  as  one  of 


64  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

the  most  extraordinary  things  he  had  seen  since  he  left 
Bagdad. 

At  last  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  came  to  the  foot  of  a  lofty 
green  mountain,  with  groves  and  jocund  villages,  which 
studded  it,  as  it  were,  with  gems  and  shining  ornaments, 
and  he  said,  "Tiiis  must  be  the  wall  of  the  world,  for 
surely  nothing  can  exist  ou  the  other  side  of  these  hills ! 
but  I  will  ascend  them  and  look  over,  for  I  should  like 
to  tell  my  friends  in  Bagdad  what  is  to  be  seen  on  the 
outside  of  the  earth."  Accordingly  he  ascended  the 
green  mountain,  and  he  came  to  a  thick  forest  of  stubby 
trees:  "This  is  surprising,"  said  Iladdad-Ben-Ahab, 
"  but  higher  I  will  yet  go."  And  he  passed  through 
that  forest  of  trees  and  came  to  a  steep  moorland  j)art 
of  the  hill,  where  no  living  thing  could  be  seen,  but  a 
solitude  without  limit,  and  the  livuig  world  all  glittering 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 

"This  is  a  higii  place,"  said  Haddad-Ben-Ahab,  "but 
I  will  yet  go  higher,"  and  he  began  to  climb  with  his 
hands.  After  an  upward  journey  of  great  toil  he  came 
to  a  frozen  region,  and  the  top  of  the  wall  of  the  world 
was  still  far  above  him.  He  was,  however,  none  daunted 
by  the  distance,  but  boldly  held  on  in  the  ascent,  and  at 
last  he  reached  the  top  of  the  wall.  But  when  he  got 
there,  instead  of  a  region  of  fog  and  chaos,  he  only  be- 
held another  world  much  like  our  own,  and  he  was 
greatly  amazed,  and  exclaimed  Avith  a  loud  voice,  — 
"  Will  my  friends  in  Bagdad  believe  this  ?  —  but  it  is 
true,  and  I  will  so  tell  them."  So  he  hastened  down 
the  mountain,  and  went  with  all  the  speed  he  could  back 
to  Bagdad ;  saying,  "  Bagdad/'  and  givuig  gold  to  every 


HADDAD-BEN-AHAB  THE  TRAVELLER.    G5 

mail  he  met,  until  he  reached  the  kiosk  of  dreams,  where 
his  frieuds  were  smoking  and  looking  at  the  gambols  of 
the  Tigris. 

When  the  friends  of  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  saw  him  ap- 
proach, they  respectively  took  their  pipes  from  their 
mouths  and  held  them  in  their  left  hands,  while  they 
pressed  their  bosoms  with  their  right,  and  received  him 
with  a  solemn  salaam,  for  he  had  been  long  absent,  and 
all  they  in  the  mean  time  iiad  heard  concerning  him  was 
only  what  Orooblis,  the  Armenian  dyer,  on  his  return 
told  thsm :  namely,  that  he  was  gone  to  the  wall  of  the 
world,  which  limits  the  travels  of  man.  No  wonder 
then  that  they  rejoiced  with  an  exceeding  gladness  to 
see  him  return  and  take  his  place  in  the  kiosk  among 
them,  as  if  he  had  never  been  a  day's  journey  away  from 
Bagdad. 

Tiiey  then  questioned  him  about  his  adventures,  and 
he  faithfully  related  to  them  all  the  wonders  which  have 
been  set  forth  in  our  account  of  the  journey ;  upon 
which  they  declared  he  had  made  himself  one  of  the 
sages  of  the  earth. 

Afterward  they  each  made  a  feast,  to  which  they 
invited  all  tlie  philosophers  in  Bagdad,  and  Haddad- 
B^n-Ahub  was  placed  in  the  seat  of  honor,  and  being 
courteously  solicited,  told  them  of  his  travels,  and  every 
one  cried  aloud,  "God  is  great,  and  Mahomet  is  his 
prophet ! " 

When  they  had  in  this  manner  banqueted,  Haddad- 
Ben-Ahab  fell  sick,  and  there  was  a  great  talk  concern- 
ing the  same.  Some  said  he  was  very  ill ;  others  shook 
their  heads  and  spoke  not ;  but  the  world  is  full  of  envy 


66  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

and  hard-lieartedness,  and  those  who  were  spiteful  be- 
cause of  the  renown  wliich  Haddad-Ben-Ahab,  as  a 
traveller  who  had  visited  the  top  of  the  Mall  of  the 
world  with  so  much  courage,  had  acquired,  jeered  at 
his  malady,  saying  he  had  been  only  feasted  overmuch. 
Nevertheless,  Haddad-Bcn-Ahab  died;  and  never  was 
such  a  funeral  seen  in  all  Bagdad,  save  that  of  the 
caliph  Mahoud,  commonly  called  the  Magnificent.  Such 
was  the  admiration  in  which  the  memory  of  the  traveller 
was  held,  the  poets  made  dirges  on  the  occasion,  and 
mournful  songs  were  heard  in  the  twilight  from  the 
windows  of  every  harem.  Nor  did  the  generation  of 
the  time  content  itself  with  the  ceremonies  of  lamenta- 
tion :  they  caused  a  fountain  to  be  erected,  which  they 
named  the  Fountain  of  Haddad-Ben-Ahab  the  traveller ; 
and  when  the  slaves  go  to  fetch  water,  they  speak  of  the 
wonderful  things  he  did,  and  how  he  was  on  the  top 
of  the  wall  of  the  world,  and  saw  the  outside  of  the 
earth;  so  that  his  memory  lives  forever  among  them, 
as  one  of  the  greatest,  the  wisest,  and  the  bravest  of 
men. 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST. 


BY  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY. 


OR  some  time  after  the  fatal  accident  which 
deprived  her  of  her  husband,  Mrs.  Bhiebeard 
was,  as  may  be  imagined,  in  a  state  of  pro- 
found grief. 

There  was  not  a  widow  in  all  the  country  who  went 
to  such  an  expense  for  black  bombazine.  She  had 
lier  beautiful  hair  confined  in  crimped  caps,  and  her 
weepers  came  over  her  elbows.  Of  course,  she  saw  no 
company  except  her  sister  Anne  (whose  company  was 
anything  but  pleasant  to  the  widow) ;  as  for  her  broth- 
ers, their  odious  mess-table  manners  had  always  been 
disagreeable  to  her.  What  did  she  care  for  jokes  about 
the  major,  or  scandal  concerning  the  Scotch  surgeon  of 
the  regiment  ?  If  they  drank  their  wine  out  of  black 
bottles  or  crystal,  what  did  it  matter  to  her  ?  Their 
stories  of  the  stable,  the  parade,  and  the  last  run  with 
the  hounds,  were  perfectly  odious  to  her ;  besides,  she 
could  not  bear  their  impertinent  mustachios,  and  filthy 
habit  of  smoking  cigars. 

Tiiey   were  always  wikl,  vulgar  young  men,  at  the 


68  LITTLE    CLASSICS, 

best;  but  now, — noio,  0,  their  presence  to  her  deli- 
cate soul  was  horror !  How  could  she  bear  to  look  on 
them  after  what  had  occurred  ?  She  thought  of  the 
best  of  husbands  ruthlessly  cut  down  by  their  cruel, 
heavy,  cavalry  sabres ;  the  kind  friend,  the  generous 
landlord,  the  spotless  justice  of  peace,  in  whose  family 
differences  these  rude  cornets  of  dragoons  liad  dancj 
to  interfere,  whose  venerable  blue  hairs  they  had  drr.ggcd 
down  with  sorrow  to  the  grave. 

She  put  up  a  most  splendid  monument  to  her  departed 
lord  over  the  family  vault  of  the  Bluebeards.  The  rec- 
tor. Dr.  Sly,  who  had  been  Mr.  Bluebeard's  tutor  at 
college,  wrote  an  c])itaph  in  the  most  pompous  yet 
pathetic  Litin :  "  Siste,  viator!  mnerens  conjux,  hen! 
quanto  minus  est  cum  reliquis  versavi  quam  tui  memi- 
uisse "  ;  in  a  word,  everytliiug  that  is  usually  said  in 
epitaphs.  A  bust  of  the  departed  saint,  with  Virtue 
mourning  over  it,  stood  over  the  epitaph,  surrounded 
by  medallions  of  his  wives,  aud  one  of  these  medallions 
had  as  yet  no  name  in  it,  nor  (the  epitaph  said)  could 
the  widow  ever  be  consoled  until  her  own  name  w:;s 
inscribed  there.  "For  then  I  shall  be  with  him.  In 
ceelo  quits,"  she  would  say,  throwing  up  her  fine  eyes 
to  heaven,  and  quoting  the  enormous  words  of  the 
hatchment  wliich  was  put  uj)  in  the  church,  and  over 
Bluebeard's  hall,  Mhere  the  butler,  the  housekeeper,  tlie 
footman,  the  housemaid,  aud  srullinns  were  all  in  the 
profoundest  mourning.  The  keeper  went  out  to  shoof, 
birds  in  a  crape  baud ;  nay,  the  very  scarecrows  in  the 
orchard  and  fruit  garden  were  ordered  to  be  dressed  in 
black. 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  69 

Sister  Anne  was  the  only  person  who  refused  to  wear 
l)lack.  Mrs.  Bluebeard  would  have  parted  with  her, 
but  she  had  no  other  female  relative.  Her  father,  it 
may  be  remembered  by  readers  of  the  former  part  of 
her  Memoirs,  had  married  again,  and  the  mother-in-law 
and  Mrs.  Bluebeard,  as  usual,  hated  each  other  furi- 
ously. Mrs.  Shacabac  had  come  to  the  hall  on  a  visit 
of  condolence ;  but  the  widow  was  so  rude  to  her  on 
the  second  day  of  the  visit  that  the  step-mother  quitted 
the  house  in  a  fury.  As  for  the  Bluebeards,  of  course 
they  hated  the  widow.  Had  not  Mr.  Bluebeard  settled 
every  shilling  upon  her  ?  and,  having  no  children  by  his 
former  marriage,  her  property,  as  I  leave  you  to  fancy, 
was  pretty  handsome.  So  Sister  Anne  was  the  only 
female  relative  whom  Mrs.  Bluebeard  would  keep  near 
her ;  and,  as  we  all  know,  a  woman  must  have  a  female 
relative  under  any  circumstances  of  pain,  or  pleasure,  or 
profit,  —  when  she  is  married,  or  when  she  is  widowed, 
or  when  she  is  in  a  delicate  situation.  But  let  us  con- 
tinue our  story. 

"  I  will  never  wear  mourning  for  that  odious  wretch, 
sister  !  "  Anne  would  cry. 

"  I  will  trouble  you,  Miss  Anne,  not  to  use  such 
words  in  my  presence  regarding  the  best  of  husbands, 
or  to  quit  the  room  at  once ! "  the  widow  would 
answer. 

"  I  'm  sure  it 's  no  great  pleasure  to  sit  in  it.  I  won- 
der you  don't  make  use  of  the  closet,  sister,  where  the 
other  Mrs.  Bluebeards  are." 

"  Impertinence  !  they  were  all  embalmed  by  M.  'Gan- 
nul.     How  dare  you   report  the   monstrous  calumnies 


70  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

regarding  the  best  of  men?  Take  down  the  family 
Bible,  and  read  what  my  blessed  saint  says  of  his  wives, 
—  read  it,  written  in  his  own  hand  :  — 

" '  Friday,  June  20.  —  Married  my  beloved  wife,  Anna 
Maria  Scrogginsia. 

"  '  Saturday,  August  1.  —  A  bereaved  husband  has  scarcely 
strength  to  write  down  in  this  chronicle  that  the  dearest  of 
wives,  Anna  Mnria  Scrogginsia,  expired  this  day  of  sore 
throat.' 

"  There  1  can  anything  be  more  convincing  than  that  ? 
Read  again :  — 

"  '  Tuesday,  September  1.  —  This  day  I  led  to  the  hymeneal 
altar  my  soul's  blessing,  Louisa  Matilda  Hopkinson.  May  this 
angel  supply  the  place  of  her  1  have  lost ! 

"  '  Wednesday,  October  5.  —  O  Heavens  !  pity  the  distrac> 
tion  of  a  wretch  who  is  obliged  to  record  the  ruin  of  his  dear- 
est hopes  and  affections  !  This  day  my  adored  Louisa  Matilda 
Hopkinson  gave  up  the  ghost  !  A  complaint  of  the  head  and 
shoulders  was  the  sudden  cause  of  the  event  which  has  ren- 
dered the  unhappy  subscriber  the  most  miserable  of  men. 

" '  Bluebeard.' 

"  Every  one  of  the  women  arc  calendared  in  this  de- 
lightful, this  pathetic,  this  truly  virtuous  and  tender 
way  ;  and  can  you  suppose  that  a  man  Avho  wrote  such 
sentiments  could  be  a  murderer,  miss  ?  " 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  did  not  kill  them, 
then  ?  "  said  Anne. 

"Gracious  goodness,  Anne,  kill  them!  they  died 
all  as  naturally  as  I  hope  you  will.  My  blessed  hus- 
band was  an  angel  of  goodness  and  kindness  to  tlieiu. 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  71 

Was  it  his  fault  that  the  doctors  could  not  cure  their 
maladies  ?  No,  that  it  was  u't !  and  when  they  died 
the  inconsolable  husband  had  their  bodies  embalmed  in 
order  that  on  this  side  of  the  grave  he  might  never 
part  from  them." 

"  And  why  did  he  take  you  up  in  the  tower,  pray  ? 
And  why  did  you  send  me  in  such  a  hurry  to  the  leads  ? 
and  why  did  he  sharpen  his  long  knife,  and  roar  out  to 

you  to  COMK  DOWN  ?  " 

"  Merely  to  punish  me  for  ray  curiosity,  —  the  dear, 
good,  kind,  excellent  creature ! "  sobbed  the  widow, 
overpowered  with  affectionate  recollections  of  her  lord's 
attentions  to  her. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Sister  Anne,  sulkily,  "  that  I  had  not 
been  in  such  a  hurry  in  summoning  my  brothers." 

"  Ah  !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Bluebeard,  with  a  harrowuig 
scream,  "don't,  —  don't  recall  that  horrid,  fatal  day, 
miss  !  If  you  had  not  misled  your  brothers,  my  poor, 
dear,  darling  Bluebsard  would  still  be  in  life,  still  —  still 
the  soul's  joy  of  his  bereaved  Futima !  " 

Whether  it  is  that  all  wives  adore  husbands  when 
the  latter  are  no  more,  or  whether  it  is  that  Fatuna's 
version  of  the  story  is  really  th3  correct  one,  and  that 
the  common  impression  against  Bluebeard  is  an  odious 
prejudice,  and  that  he  no  more  murdered  his  wives  than 
you  and  I  have,  remiiins  yet  to  ba  proved,  and,  indeed, 
does  not  much  matter  for  th3  understanding  of  the  rest 
of  Mrs.  B.'s  adventures.  And  though  people  will  say 
that  Bluebeard's  settlement  of  his  whole  fortune  on  his 
wife,  in  event  of  survivorship,  was  a  mere  act  of  absurd 
mystification,  seeing  that  he  was  fully  d3teruuned  to  cut 


72  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

lier  head  off  after  the  honeymoon,  yet  the  best  test  of 
liis  real  intentions  is  the  profound  grief  which  the  widow 
manifested  for  his  death,  and  the  fact  that  he  left  her 
mighty  well  to  do  in  the  world. 

If  any  one  were  to  leave  you  or  me  a  fortune,  my  dear 
friend,  would  we  be  too  anxious  to  rake  up  the  how  and 
the  why  ?  Pooh !  pooh !  we  would  take  it  and  make 
no  bones  about  it,  and  Mrs.  Bluebeard  did  likewise. 
Her  husband's  family,  it  is  true,  argued  the  pouit  with 
her,  and  said,  "  Madam,  you  must  perceive  that  Mr. 
Bluebeard  never  intended  the  fortune  for  you,  as  it  was 
his  fixed  intention  to  chop  off  your  head !  It  is  clear 
that  he  meant  to  leave  his  money  to  his  blood  relations, 
therefore  you  ought  in  equity  to  hand  it  over.  -But  she 
sent  them  all  off  with  a  flea  in  their  ears,  as  the  saying 
is,  and  said,  "  Your  argument  may  be  a  very  good  one, 
but  I  will,  if  you  please,  keep  the  money."  And  slu; 
ordered  the  mourning  as  we  have  before  shown,  and 
indulged  in  grief,  and  exalted  everywhere  the  character 
of  the  deceased.  If  any  one  would  but  leave  me  a  for- 
tune, what  a  funeral  and  what  a  character  I  would  give 
him ! 

Bluebeard  Hall  is  situated,  as  we  all  very  well  knoM% 
in  a  remote  country  district,  and,  although  a  fine  resi- 
dence, is  remarkably  gloomy  and  lonely.  To  the  widow's 
susceptible  mind,  after  the  death  of  her  darling  husband, 
the  place  became  intolerable.  The  walk,  the  lawn,  the 
fountain,  the  green  glades  of  park  over  which  frisked 
the  dappled  deer,  all,  —  all  recalled  the  memory  of  her 
beloved.  It  was  but  yesterday  that,  as  they  roamed 
through  the  park   in  the  calm  sunmier  evening,   her 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  73 

Bluebeard  pointed  out  to  the  keeper  the  fat  buck  he 
was  to  kill.  "  Ah !  "  said  the  widow,  with  tears  in  her 
fine  eyes,  "  the  artless  stag  was  shot  down,  the  haunch 
was  cut  and  roasted,  the  jelly  had  been  prepared  from 
the  currant-bushes  in  the  garden  that  he  loved,  but  my 
Bluebeard  never  ate  of  the  venison  !  Look,  Anne  sweet, 
pass  we  the  old  oak  hall ;  't  is  hung  with  trophies  won 
by  him  in  the  chase,  with  pictures  of  the  noble  race  of 
Bluebeard !  Look  !  by  the  fireplace  there  is  the  gig-whip, 
his  riding-whip,  the  spud  with  which  you  know  he  used 
to  dig  the  weeds  out  of  the  terrace-walk  ;  in  that  drawer 
are  his  spurs,  his  whistle,  his  visiting-cards,  with  his 
dear,  dear  name  engraven  upon  them  !  There  are  the 
bits  of  string  that  he  used  to  cut  off  the  parcels  and 
keep,  because  string  was  always  useful ;  his  button-hook, 
and  there  is  the  peg  on  which  he  used  to  hang  his 
h— h— ^«^/" 

Uncontrollable  emotions,  bursts  of  passionate  tears, 
would  follow  these  tender  reminiscences  of  the  widow; 
and  the  long  and  short  of  the  matter  was,  that  she  was 
determined  to  give  up  Bluebeard  Hall  and  hve  else- 
where ;  her  love  for  the  memory  of  the  deceased,  she 
said,  rendered  the  place  too  wretched. 

Of  course,  an  envious  and  sneering  world  said  that 
she  was  tired  of  the  country,  and  wanted  to  marry 
again ;  but  she  little  heeded  its  taunts ;  and  Anne,  who 
hated  her  step-mother  and  could  not  live  at  home,  was 
fain  to  accompany  her  sister  to  the  town  where  the 
Bluebeards  have  had  for  many  years  a  very  large,  gen- 
teel, old-fashioned  house.  So  she  went  to  the  town- 
house,  where  they  lived  and  quarrelled  pretty  much  as 

VOL.  IX.  4 


74  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

usual ;  and  though  Anne  often  threatened  to  leave  her, 
and  go  to  a  boarding-house,  of  which  there  were  plenty 
in  the  place,  yet,  after  all,  to  live  with  her  sister,  and 
drive  out  in  the  carriage  with  the  footman  and  coach- 
man in  mourning,  and  the  lozenge  on  the  panels,  with 
the  Bluebeard  and  Shacabac  arms  quartered  on  it,  was 
far  more  respectable,  and  so  the  lovely  sisters  continued 
to  dwell  together. 

For  a  lady  under  Mrs.  Bluebeard's  circumstances,  the 
town-house  has  other  and  peculiar  advantages.  Besides 
being  an  exceedingly  spacious  and  dismal  brick  building, 
with  a  dismal  iron  railing  in  front,  and  long,  dismal,  thin 
windows,  with  little  panes  of  glass,  it  looked  out  into 
the  churchyard,  where,  time  out  of  mind,  between  two 
yew-trees,  one  of  which  is  cut  into  the  form  of  a  pea- 
cock, while  the  other  represents  a  dumb-waiter,  it  looked 
into  the  churchyard  where  the  monument  of  the  late 
Bluebeard  was  placed  over  the  family  vault.  It  was  the 
first  thing  the  widow  saw  from  her  bedroom  window  in 
the  morning,  and  't  was  sweet  to  watch  at  night,  from 
the  parlor,  the  pallid  moonlight  hghting  up  the  bust  of 
the  departed,  and  Virtue  throwing  great  black  shadows 
athwart  it.  Polyanthuses,  rhododendra,  ranunculuses, 
and  other  flowers,  with  the  largest  names  and  of  the  most 
delightful  odors,  were  planted  within  the  little  iron  niil- 
ing  that  enclosed  the  last  resting-place  of  the  Blue- 
beards ;  and  the  beadle  was  instructed  to  half  kill  any 
little  boys  who  might  be  caught  plucking  these  sweet 
testimonials  of  a  wife's  affection. 

Over  the  sideboard  iu  the  dining-room  hung  a  full- 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  75 

length  of  Mr.  Bluebeard,  by  Ticklegill,  R.  A.,  in  a 
militia  uniform,  frowning  down  upon  the  knives  and 
forks  and  silver  trays.  Over  the  mantel-piece  he  was 
represented  in  a  hunting  costume,  on  his  favorite  horse ; 
there  was  a  sticking-plaster  silhouette  of  liim  in  the 
widow's  bedroom,  and  a  miniature  in  the  drawing-room, 
where  he  was  drawn  in  a  gown  of  black  and  gold,  hold- 
ing a  gold-tasselled  trencher  cap  with  one  hand,  and 
with  the  other  pointing  to  a  diagram  of  Pons  Asinorum. 
This  likeness  was  taken  when  he  was  a  fellow-commoner 
at  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  and  before  the  growth 
of  that  blue  beard  which  was  the  ornament  of  his  man- 
hood, and  a  part  of  which  now  formed  a  beautii'ul  blue 
neck-chain  for  his  bereaved  wife. 

Sister  Auue  said  tlie  town-house  was  even  more  dismal 
than  the  country-house,  for  there  was  pure  air  at  the 
Hall,  and  it  was  pleasauter  to  look  out  on  a  park  than 
on  a  churchyard,  however  fine  the  monuments  might  be. 
But  the  widow  said  she  was  a  light-minded  hussy,  and 
persisted  as  usual  in  her  lamentations  and  mourning. 
The  only  male  whom  she  would  admit  within  her  doors 
was  the  parson  of  the  parish,  who  read  sermons  to  her ; 
and,  as  his  reverence  was  at  least  seventy  years  old, 
Anne,  though  she  might  be  ever  so  much  minded  to  fall  in 
love,  had  no  opportunity  to  indulge  her  inclination  ;  and 
the  town-people,  scandalous  as  they  might  be,  could  not 
find  a  word  to  say  against  the  liaison  of  the  venerable 
man  and  the  heart-stricken  widow. 

All  other  company  she  resolutely  refused.  When  the 
players  were  in  the  town,  the  poor  manager,  who  came 
to  beg  her  to  bespeak  a  comedy,  was  thrust  out  of  the 


76  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

gates  by  the  big  butler.  Thougli  there  were  balls,  cara- 
parties,  and  assemblies,  Widow  Bluebeard  would  never 
subscribe  to  one  of  them ;  and  even  the  officers,  those 
all-conquering  heroes  who  make  such  ravages  in  ladies' 
hearts,  and  to  whom  all  ladies'  doors  are  commonly 
open,  could  never  get  an  entry  into  the  widow's  house. 
Captain  Whiskerfield  strutted  for  three  weeks  up  and 
down  before  her  house,  and  hud  not  the  least  effect  upon 
her.  Captain  O'Grady  (of  an  Irish  regiment)  attempted 
to  bribe  the  servants,  and  one  night  actually  scaled  the 
garden  wall ;  but  all  that  he  got  was  his  foot  in  a 
man-trap,  not  to  mention  being  dreadfully  scarified  by 
the  broken  glass  ;  and  so  he  never  made  love  any  more. 
Finally,  Captain  Blackbeiird,  whose  whiskers  vied  in 
magnitude  with  those  of  the  deceased  Bluebeard  himself, 
although  he  attended  church  regularly  every  week,  —  he 
who  had  not  darkened  the  doors  of  a  church  for  ten 
years  before,  —  even  Captain  Blackbeard  got  nothing  by 
his  piety ;  and  the  widow  never  once  took  her  eyes  off 
her  book  to  look  at  him.  The  barracks  were  in  des])air ; 
and  Captain  Whiskerfield's  tailor,  who  had  sujiplied  him 
with  new  clothes  in  order  to  win  the  widow's  heart, 
ended  by  clapping  the  captain  into  jail. 

His  reverence  the  parson  highly  applauded  the  wid- 
ow's conduct  to  the  officers ;  but,  being  hinisclf  rather 
of  a  social  turn,  and  fond  of  a  good  dinner  and  a  bottle, 
be  represented  to  the  lovely  mourner  that  she  should 
endeavor  to  divert  her  grief  by  a  little  respectable  soci- 
ety, and  recommended  that  she  shoidd  from  time  to 
time  entertain  a  few  grave  and  sober  jiersons  whom  lu; 
would  present  to  her.     As  Dr.  Sly  had  an  unbounded 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  77 

influence  over  the  fair  mourner,  slie  acceded  to  liis  de- 
sires ;  and  accordingly  he  introduced  to  her  house  some 
of  the  most  venerable  and  worthy  of  his  acquaintance, 
—  all  married  people,  however,  so  that  the  widow  shoiJd 
not  take  the  least  alarm. 

■  It  happened  that  the  doctor  had  a  nephew,  who  was 
a  lawyer  in  Loudon,  and  this  gentleman  cams  dutifully 
in  the  long  vacation  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  reverend  uncle. 
"  He  is  none  of  your  roystering,  dashing  young  fellows," 
said  his  reverence ;  "  he  is  the  delight  of  his  mamma 
and  sisters  ;  he  never  drinks  anything  stronger  than  tea ; 
he  never  missed  church  thrice  a  Sunday  for  these  twenty 
years ;  and  I  hope,  my  dear  and  amiable  madam,  that 
you  will  not  object  to  receive  this  pattern  of  young  men 
for  the  sake  of  your  most  devoted  friend,  his  uncle." 

The  widow  consented  to  receive  Mr.  Sly.  He  was 
not  a  handsome  man,  certainly.  "  But  what  does  that 
matter  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  "  He  is  good,  and  virtue  is 
better  than  all  the  beauty  of  all  the  dragoons  in  the 
Queen's  service." 

Mr.  Sly  came  there  to  dinner,  and  he  came  to  tea ; 
and  he  drove  out  with  the  widow  in  the  carriage  with 
the  lozenge  on  it ;  and  at  church  he  handed  the  psalm- 
book  ;  and,  in  short,  he  paid  her  every  attention  which 
could  be  expected  from  so  polite  a  young  gentleman. 

At  this  the  town  began  to  talk,  as  people  in  towns 
will.  "  The  doctor  kept  all  bachelors  out  of  the  widow's 
house,"  said  they,  "  in  order  that  that  ugly  nephew  of 
his  may  have  the  field  entirely  to  himself."  These 
speeches  were  of  course  heard  by  Sister  Anne,  and  the 
little  minx  was  not  a  little  glad  to  take  advantage  of 


78  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

them,  ill  order  to  induce  her  sister  to  see  some  more 
cheerful  company.  The  fact  is,  the  young  hussy  loved 
a  dance  or  a  game  at  cards  much  more  than  a  humdrum 
conversation  over  a  tea-table ;  and  so  she  plied  her  sister 
day  and  night  with  hints  as  to  the  propriety  of  opening 
her  house,  receiving  the  gentry  of  the  county,  and  spend- 
ing her  fortune. 

To  this  point  the  widow  at  length,  though  with  many 
sighs  and  vast  unwillingness,  acceded ;  and  she  went  so 
far  as  to  order  a  very  becoming  half-mouming,  in  which 
all  the  world  declared  she  looked  charming.  "  I  carry," 
said  she,  "  my  blessed  Bluebeard  in  my  heart,  —  that  is 
in  the  deepest  mourning  for  him,  and  when  the  heart 
grieves,  there  is  no  need  of  outward  show." 

So  she  issued  cards  for  a  little  quiet  tea  and  supper, 
and  several  of  the  best  families  in  the  town  and  neigh- 
borhood attended  her  entertainment.  It  was  followed 
by  another  and  another ;  and  at  last  Captain  Blackbeard 
was  actually  introduced,  though,  of  course,  he  came  in 
plain  clothes. 

Dr.  Sly  and  his  nephew  never  could  abide  the  captain. 
"  They  had  heard  some  queer  stories,"  they  said,  "about 
proceedings  in  barracks.  Who  was  it  that  drank  three 
bottles  at  a  sittuig  ?  who  had  a  mare  that  ran  for  the 
plate  ?  and  why  was  it  that  Dolly  Coddlins  left  the  town 
so  suddenly  ? "  Mr.  Sly  turned  up  the  whites  of  his 
eyes  as  his  uncle  asked  these  questions,  and  sighed  for 
the  wickedness  of  the  world.  But  for  all  that  he  was 
delighted,  especially  at  the  anger  which  the  widow 
manifested  when  the  Dolly  Coddlins  affair  was  hinted 
at.     She  was  furious,  and  vowed  she  would  never  see 


Bluebeard's  ghost.  79 

tlie  wretch  again.  The  lawyer  and  his  uncle  were 
charmed.  O  short-sighted  lawyer  and  parson,  do  you 
think  Mrs.  Bluebeard  would  have  been  so  angry  if  she 
had  not  been  jealous  ?  —  do  you  think  she  would  have 
been  jealous  if  she  had  not  .  .  .  had  not  what  ?  She 
protested  that  she  no  more  cared  for  the  captain  than 
she  did  for  one  of  her  footmen ;  but  the  next  time  he 
called  she  would  not  condescend  to  say  a  word  to  him. 

"  My  dearest  Miss  Anne,"  said  the  captain,  as  he  met 
her  in  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  (she  herself  was  dancing 
with  Ensign  Trippet),  "  what  is  the  matter  with  your 
lovely  sister  ?" 

"  Dolly  Coddlius  is  the  matter,"  said  Miss  Anne. 
"  Mr.  Sly  has  told  all."  And  she  was  down  the  middle 
in  a  twinkling. 

The  captain  blushed  so  at  this  monstrous  insinuation, 
that  any  one  could  see  how  incorrect  it  was.  He  made 
imiumerable  blunders  in  the  dance,  and  was  all  the  time 
casting  such  ferocious  glances  at  Mr.  Sly  (who  did  not 
dance,  but  sat  by  the  widow  and  ate  ices),  that  his  part- 
ner thought  he  was  mad,  and  that  Mr.  Sly  became  very 
uneasy. 

When  the  dance  was  over,  he  came  to  pay  his 
respects  to  the  widow,  and,  in  so  doing,  somehow  trod 
so  violently  on  Mr.  Sly's  foot,  that  that  gentleman 
screamed  with  pain,  and  presently  went  home.  But 
though  he  was  gone,  the  widow  was  not  a  whit  more 
gracious  to  Captain  Blackbeard.  She  requested  Mr. 
Trippet  to  order  her  carriage  that  nigiit,  and  went  home 
without  uttering  one  single  word  to  Captain  Blackbeard. 

The  next  morning,  and  with  a  face  of  preternatural 


80  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

longitude,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Sly  paid  a  visit  to  the  widow. 
"  The  wickedness  and  bloodthirstiness  of  the  world," 
said  he,  "  increase  every  day.  O  my  dear  madam,  what 
monsters  do  we  meet  in  it,  —  what  wretches^  what  assas- 
sins, are  allowed  to  go  abroad !  Would  you  believe  it, 
that  this  morning,  as  my  nephew  was  taking  his  peaceful 
morning-meal,  one  of  the  ruffians  from  the  barracks  pre- 
sented himself  with  a  challenge  from  Captain  Black- 
beard?" 

"  Is  he  hurt  ?  "  screamed  the  widow. 

"  No,  my  dear  friend,  my  dear  Frederick  is  not  hurt. 
And  O,  what  a  joy  it  will  be  to  him  to  think  you  have 
that  tender  solicitude  for  his  welfare  ! " 

"  You  know  I  have  always  had  the  highest  respect  for 
him,"  said  the  widow  ;  who,  wlien  she  screamed,  was  in 
truth  thinking  of  somebody  else.  But  the  doctor  did 
not  choose  to  interpret  her  thoughts  in  tjiat  way,  and 
gave  all  the  benefit  of  them  to  his  nephew. 

"That  anxiety,  dearest  madam,  which  you  express  for 
him  emboldens  me,  encourages  me,  authorizes  me,  to 
press  a  point  upon  you  which  I  am  sure  must  have  en- 
tered your  thoughts  ere  now.  The  dear  youth  in  whom 
you  have  shown  such  an  interest  lives  but  for  you  ! 
Yes,  fair  lady,  start  not  at  hearing  that  his  sole  affections 
are  yours;  and  with  what  pride  shall  I  carry  to  him 
back  the  news  that  he  is  not  indifferent  to  you ! " 

"  Are  they  going  to  fight  ?  "  continued  the  lady,  in  a 
breathless  state  of  alarm.  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  dearest 
doctor,  prevent  the  horrid,  horrid  meeting.  Send  for  a 
magistrate's  warrant ;  do  anything ;  but  do  not  suffer 
those  misguided  young  men  to  cut  each  other's  throats ! " 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  81 

"Eairest  lady,  I  fly !  "  said  tlie  doctor,  and  went  back 
to  lunch  quite  delighted  with  the  evident  partiality  Mrs. 
Eluebeard  showed  for  his  nephew.  Aijd  Mrs.  Bluebeard, 
not  content  with  exhorting  him  to  prevent  the  duel, 
rushed  to  Mr.  Pound,  the  magistrate,  informed  liim  of 
the  facts,  got  out  warrants  against  both  Mr.  Sly  and  the 
captain,  and  would  have  put  them  into  execution ;  but  it 
was  discovered  that  the  former  gentleman  had  abruptly 
left  town,  so  that  the  constable  could  not  lay  hold  of 
him. 

It  somehow,  however,  came  to  be  generally  known 
that  the  widow  Bluebeard  had  declared  herself  in  favor 
of  Mr.  Sly,  the  lawyer ;  that  she  had  fainted  when  told 
her  lover  was  about  to  fight  a  duel ;  finally,  that  she  had 
accepted  him,  and  would  marry  him  as  soon  as  the  quar- 
rel between  him  and  the  captain  was  settled.  Dr.  Sly, 
when  applied  to,  hummed  and  ha'd,  and  would  give  no 
direct  answer  ;  but  he  denied  nothing,  and  looked  so 
knowing,  that  all  the  world  was  certain  of  the  fact ;  and 
the  couuty  paper  next  week  stated  :  — 

"  We  understand  that  the  lovely  and  wealthy  Mrs.  Bl— b — rd 
is  about  once  more  to  enter  the  bands  of  wedlock  with  our 
distinguished  townsman,  Frederick  S — y,  Esq.,  of  the  Middle 
Temple,  London.  The  learaed  gentleman  left  town  in  conse- 
quence of  a  dispute  with  a  gallant  son  of  Mare,  which  was  likely 
to  have  led  to  warlike  results,  had  not  a  magisti-ate's  warrant 
intervened,  when  the  captain  was  bouud  over  to  keep  the 
peace." 

In  fact,  as  soon  as  the  captain  was  so  bound  over,  Mr. 
Sly  came  back,  stating  that  he  had  quitted  the  town  not 
to  avoid  a  duel,  —  far  from  it,  but  to  keep  out  of  the 
4*  F 


82  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

way  of  the  magistrates,  and  give  the  captain  every  facil- 
ity. He  liad  taken  out  no  warrant ;  he  had  been  per- 
fectly ready  to  meet  the  captain ;  if  others  had  been 
more  prudent,  it  was  not  his  fault.  So  lie  held  up  his 
head,  and  cocked  his  hat  with  the  most  determhicd  air; 
and  all  the  lawyers'  clerks  in  the  place  were  quite  proud 
of  their  hero. 

As  for  Captain  Blackbeard,  his  rage  and  indignation 
may  be  imagined ;  a  wife  robbed  from  him,  his  honor 
put  in  question  by  an  odious,  lanky,  squinting  lawyer ! 
He  fell  ill  of  a  fever  incontinently ;  and  the  surgeon  was 
obliged  to  take  a  quantity  of  blood  from  him,  ten  times 
the  amount  of  which  he  swore  he  would  have  out  of  the 
veins  of  the  atrocious  Sly. 

The  announcement  in  "  The  Mercury,"  however,  filled 
the  widow  with  almost  equal  indignation.  "  The  widow 
of  the  gallant  Bluebeard,"  she  said,  "  marry  an  odious 
wretch  who  lives  in  dingy  chambers  in  the  Middle  Tem- 
ple !  Send  for  Dr.  Sly."  The  doctor  came ;  she  rated 
him  soundly,  asked  him  how  he  dared  set  abroad  such 
calumnies  concerning  her;  ordered  him  to  send  his 
nephew  back  to  Loudon  at  once ;  and  as  he  valued  her 
esteem,  as  he  valued  the  next  presentation  to  a  fat  living 
which  lay  in  her  gift,  to  contradict  everywhere,  and  in 
the  fullest  terms,  the  wicked  report  concerning  her. 

"  My  dearest  madam,"  said  the  doctor,  pulling  his 
longest  face,  "  you  shall  be  obeyed.  The  poor  lad  shall 
be  acquainted  with  the  fatal  change  in  your  senti- 
ments ! " 

"  Change  in  my  sentiments,  Dr.  Sly  !  " 

"  With  the  destruction  of   his  hopes,  rather  let  me 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  83 

say ;  and  Heaven  grant  that  the  dear  boy  have  strength 
to  bear  up  against  the  misfortune  which  comes  so  sud- 
denly upon  him  !  " 

The  next  day  Sister  Anne  came  with  a  face  full  of  care 
to  Mrs.  Bluebeard.  "  O,  that  unhappy  lover  of  yours ! " 
said  she. 

"  Is  the  captain  unwell  ?  "  exclaimed  the  widow. 

"  No,  it  is  the  other,"  answered  Sister  Anne.  "  Poor, 
poor  Mr.  Sly  !  He  made  a  will  leaving  you  all,  except 
five  pounds  a  year  to  his  laundress :  he  made  his  will, 
locked  his  door,  took  heart-rending  leave  of  his  uncle 
at  night,  and  this  morning  was  found  hanging  at  liis  bed- 
post when  Sambo,  the  black  servant,  took  him  up  his 
water  to  shave.  '  Let  me  be  buried,'  he  said,  '  with 
the  pincushion  she  gave  me  and  the  locket  containing 
her  hair.'  Did  you  give  him  a  pincushion,  sister?  did 
you  give  him  a  locket  with  your  hair  r* " 

"It  was  only  silver-gilt!"  sobbed  the  widow;  "and 
now,  O  Heavens !  I  have  killed  him  !  "  The  heart-rend- 
ing nature  of  her  sobs  may  be  imagined ;  but  they  were 
abruptly  interrupted  by  her  sister. 

"  Killed  him?  —  no  such  thing !  Sambo  cut  him  down 
when  he  was  as  black  in  the  face  as  the  honest  negro 
himself.  He  came  down  to  breakfast,  and  I  leave  you 
to  fancy  what  a  touching  meeting  took  place  between  the 
nephew  and  the  uncle." 

"  So  much  love  !  "  thought  the  widow.  "  What  a  pity 
he  squints  so  !  If  he  would  but  get  his  eyes  put  straight, 
I  might  perhaps  —  "  Slie  did  not  finish  the  sentence : 
ladies  often  leave  this  sort  of  sentence  in  a  sweet  confu- 
sion. 


84  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

But  hearing  some  news  regarding  Captain  Blackbeard, 
•whose  illness  and  blood-letting  were  described  to  her 
most  pathetically,  as  well  as  accuratelj%  by  the  Scotch 
surgeon  of  the  regiment,  her  feelings  of  compassion 
towards  the  lawyer  cooled  somewhat ;  and  when  Dr.  Sly 
called  to  know  if  she  would  condescend  to  meet  the  un- 
happy youth,  she  said  in  rather  a  distrait  manner,  that 
she  wished  him  every  happiness ;  that  she  had  the  highest 
regard  and  respect  for  him ;  that  she  besought  him  not 
to  think  any  more  of  committing  the  dreadful  crime 
•which  would  have  made  her  unhappy  forever;  but  that 
she  thought,  for  the  sake  of  both  parties,  they  had  better 
not  meet  untU  Mr.  Sly's  feelings  had  grown  somewhat 
more  calm. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  poor  fellow !  "  said  the  doctor,  "  may 
he  be  enabled  to  bear  his  frightful  calamity  i  I  have 
taken  away  his  razors  from  him,  and  Sambo,  my  man, 
never  lets  him  out  of  his  sight." 

The  next  day,  Mrs.  Bluebeard  thought  of  sending  a 
friendly  message  to  Dr.  Sly's,  asking  for  news  of  the 
health  of  his  nephew ;  but,  as  she  was  giving  her  orders 
on  that  subject  to  John  Thomas  the  footman,  it  happened 
that  tlie  captain  arrived,  and  so  Thomas  was  sent  down 
stairs  again.  And  the  captain  looked  so  delightfully  in- 
teresting with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  his  beautiful  black 
whiskers  curling  round  a  face  which  was  paler  than 
usual,  that,  at  the  end  of  two  hours,  the  widow  forgot 
the  message  altogether,  and,  indeed,  1  believe,  asked  the 
captain  whether  he  would  not  stop  and  dine.  Ensign 
Trippet  came,  too,  and  the  party  w-as  very  pleasant ;  and 
the  military  gentlemen  laughed  hugely  at  the  idea  of  the 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  85 

lawyer  having  been  cut  off  the  bedpost  by  the  black  ser- 
vant, and  were  so  witty  on  the  subject,  that  the  widow 
ended  by  half  believing  that  the  bedpost  and  hanging 
scheme  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Sly  was  only  a  feint,  —  a  trick 
to  win  her  heart.  Though  this,  to  be  sure,  was  not 
agreed  to  by  the  lady  without  a  pang,  for,  entre  nous,  to 
hang  one's  self  for  a  lady  is  no  small  compliment  to  her 
attractions,  and,  perhaps,  Mrs.  Bluebeard  was  rather 
disappointed  at  the  notion  that  the  hanging  was  not  a 
bona  fide  strangulation. 

However,  presently  her  nerves  were  excited  again; 
and  she  was  consoled  or  horrified,  as  the  case  may 
be  (the  reader  must  settle  the  point  according  to  his 
ideas  and  knowledge  of  womankind),  —  she  was  at 
any  rate  dreadfully  excited  by  the  receipt  of  a  billet 
in  the  well-known  clerk-like  hand  of  Mr.  Sly.  It  ran 
thus :  — 

"  I  saw  yon  through  your  dining-room  windows.  Yon  were 
hob-nobbing  with  Captain  Bhickbeard.  You  looked  rosy  and 
well.  You  smiled.  You  di-ank  off  the  champagne  at  a  single 
draught. 

"  I  can  bear  it  no  more.  Live  on,  smile  on,  and  be  happy. 
My  ghost  shall  repine,  perhaps,  at  your  happiness  with  another, 
—  but  in  life  I  should  go  mad  were  I  to  witness  it. 

"  It  is  best  that  I  should  be  gone. 

"  When  yon  receive  this,  tell  my  imcle  to  drag  the  fish- 
pond at  the  end  of  Bachelor's  Acre.  His  black  servant  Sambo 
accompanies  me,  it  is  true.  But  Sambo  shall  perish  with  me 
should  his  obstinacy  venture  to  restrain  me  from  my  purpose. 
I  know  the  poor  fellow's  honesty  well,  but  I  also  know  my  own 
despair. 


86  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

"  Sambo  will  leave  a  wife  and  seven  children.  Be  kind  to 
those  orphan  mulattoes  for  the  sake  of 

"  Feederick." 

Tbe  widow  gave  a  dreadful  shriek,  and  iuterrupted  the 
two  captains,  who  were  each  just  in  the  act  of  swallow- 
ing a  bumper  of  claret.  "  Fly  —  fly  —  save  him,"  she 
screamed ;  "  save  him,  monsters,  ere  it  is  too  late ! 
Drowned  !  —  Frederick !  —  Bachelor's  Wa  —  "  Syncope 
took  place,  and  the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  mter- 
rupted. 

Deucedly  disappointed  at  being  obliged  to  give  np 
their  wine,  the  two  heroes  seized  their  cocked  hats,  and 
went  towards  the  spot  which  the  widow  in  her  wild 
exclamations  of  despair  had  sufficiently  designated. 

Trippet  was  for  running  to  the  fish-pond  at  the  rate 
of  ten  miles  an  hour. 

"  Take  it  easy,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Captain  Black- 
beard  ;  "  running  is  unwholesome  after  dinner.  And,  if 
that  squinting  scoundrel  of  a  lawyer  does  drown  himself, 
I  sha'  n't  sleep  any  the  worse."  So  the  two  gentlemen 
walked  very  leisurely  on  towards  the  Bachelor's  Walk  ; 
and,  indeed,  seeing  on  their  way  thither  Major  Macabaw 
looking  out  of  the  window  at  his  quarters  and  smoking 
a  cigar,  they  went  up  stairs  to  consult  the  major,  as  also 
a  bottle  of  Schiedam  he  had. 

"  They  come  not !  "  said  the  widow,  when  restored  to 
herself.  "  O  Heavens !  grant  that  Frederick  is  safe ! 
Sister  Anne,  go  up  to  the  leads  and  look  if  anybody  is 
coming."  And  up,  accordingly,  to  the  garrets  Sister 
Anne  mounted.  "  Do  you  see  anybody  coming,  Sister 
Anne?" 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  87 

"I  see  Dr.  Drench's  little  boy,"  said  Sister  Anne; 
"he  is  leaving  a  pill  and  draught  at  Miss  Molly 
Grub's." 

"Dearest  Sister  Anne,  dou't  you  see  any  one  com- 
ing?" shouted  the  widow  once  again. 

"  I  see  a  flock  of  dust  —  no !  a  cloud  of  sheep. 
Pshaw !  I  see  the  London  coach  coming  ui.  There  are 
three  outsides,  and  the  guard  has  fluug  a  parcel  to  Mrs. 
Jeukins's  maid." 

"Distraction !     Look  once  more.  Sister  Anne." 

"  1  see  a  crowd,  —  a  shutter,  —  a  shutter  with  a  man 
on  it,  —  a  beadle,  —  forty  little  boys,  —  Gracious  good- 
ness !  what  can  it  be  ?  "  and  down  stairs  tumbled  Sister 
Anne,  and  was  looking  out  of  the  parlor-window  by  her 
sister's  side,  when  the  crowd  she  had  perceived  from  the 
garret  passed  close  by  them. 

At  the  head  walked  the  beadle,  slashing  about  at  the 
little  boys. 

Two  scores  of  these  followed  and  surrounded 

A  SHUTTER  carried  by  four  men. 

On  the  shutter  lay  Frederick  !  He  was  ghastly  pale ; 
his  hair  was  draggled  over  his  face;  his  clothes  stuck 
tight  to  him  on  account  of  the  wet;  streams  of  water 
gurgled  down  the  shutter-sides.  But  he  was  not  dead ! 
He  turned  one  eye  round  towards  the  window  where 
Mrs.  Bluebeard  sat,  and  gave  her  a  look  which  she  never 
could  forget. 

Sambo  brought  up  the  rear  of  the  procession.  He 
was  quite  wet  through ;  and,  if  anything  would  liave  put 
his  hair  out  of  curl,  his  ducking  would  have  done  so. 
But,  as  he  was  not  a  gentleman,  he  was  allowed  to  walk 


»5  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

home  on  foot,  and,  as  he  passed  the  widow's  window, 
he  gave  her  one  dreadful  glance  with  his  goggling  black 
eyes,  and  moved  on,  pointing  with  his  hands  to  the 
shutter. 

John  Thomas  the  footman  was  instantly  despatched  to 
Dr.  Sly's  to  have  news  of  the  patient.  There  was  no 
sliilly-shallying  now.  He  came  back  in  half  an  hour  to 
say  that  Mr.  Frederick  flung  himself  into  Bachelor's 
Acre  fish-pond  with  Sambo,  had  been  dragged  out  with 
difficulty,  had  been  put  to  bed,  and  had  a  pint  of  white 
wine  whey,  and  was  pretty  comfortable.  "  Thank  Heav- 
en !  "  said  the  widow,  and  gave  John  Thomas  a  seven- 
shilling  piece,  and  sat  down  with  a  lightened  heart  to 
tea.  "  What  a  heart !  "  said  she  to  Sister  Anne.  "  And 
O,  what  a  pity  it  is  that  he  squints  !  " 

Here  the  two  captains  arrived.  They  had  not  been  to 
the  Bachelor's  Walk ;  they  had  remained  at  Major  Mac- 
abaw's  consulting  the  Schiedam.  They  had  made  up 
their  minds  what  to  say.  "  Hang  the  fellow !  he  will 
never  have  the  pluck  to  drown  himself,"  said  Captain 
Blackbeard.     "  Let  us  argue  on  that,  as  we  may  safely." 

"  My  sweet  lady,"  said  he,  accordingly,  "  we  have  had 
the  pond  dragged.  No  Mr.  Sly.  And  the  fisherman 
who  keeps  the  punt  assures  us  that  he  has  not  been 
there  all  day." 

"  Audacious  falsehood ! "  said  the  widow,  her  eyes 
flashuig  fire.  "  Go,  heartless  man !  who  dares  to  trifle 
thus  with  the  feelings  of  a  respectable  and  unprotected 
woman.  Go,  sir,  you  're  only  fit  for  the  love  of  a  —  Dolly 
—  Coddlins !  "  She  pronounced  the  Coddlins  with  a 
witheruig  sarcasm  that  struck  the  captain  aghast  j  and. 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  89 

sailing  out  of  the  room,  she  left  her  tea  untasted,  and  did 
not  wish  either  of  the  military  gentlemen  good  night. 

But,  gentles,  an'  ye  know  the  delicate  fibre  of  woman's 
heart,  ye  will  not  in  very  sooth  believe  that  such  events 
as  those  we  have  described  —  such  tempests  of  passion 
—  fierce  winds  of  woe  —  blinding  lightnings  of  tremen- 
dous joy  and  tremendous  grief — could  pass  over  one 
frail  flower  and  leave  it  all  unscathed.  No !  Grief  kills 
as  joy  doth.  Doth  not  the  scorching  sun  nip  the  rose- 
bud as  well  as  the  bitter  wind?  As  Mrs.  Sigourney 
sweetly  sings :  — 

"  Ah !  the  heart  is  a  soft  and  a  delicate  thing ; 
Ah !  the  heiirt  is  a  lute  with  a  thrilling  string ; 
A  spirit  that  floats  on  a  gossamer's  wing  1  " 

Such  was  Fatima's  heart.  In  a  word,  the  preceding 
events  had  a  powerful  effect  upon  her  nervous  system, 
and  she  was  ordered  much  quiet  and  sal-volatile  by  her 
skilful  medical  attendant.  Dr.  Glauber. 

To  be  so  ardently,  passionately  loved  as  she  was,  to 
know  that  Frederick  had  twice  plunged  into  death  from 
attachment  to  her,  was  to  awaken  in  her  bosom  "  a  thrill- 
ing string,"  indeed !  Could  she  witness  such  attachment 
and  not  be  touched  by  it  ?  She  was  touched  by  it,  — 
she  was  influenced  by  the  virtues,  by  the  passion,  by  the 
misfortunes,  of  Frederick:  but  then  he  was  so  abomina- 
bly ugly  that  she  could  not  —  she  could  not  consent  to 
become  his  bride ! 

She  told  Dr.  Sly  so.  "  I  respect  and  esteem  your 
nephew,"  said  she;  "but  my  resolve  is  made.  I  will 
continue  faithful  to  that  blessed  saint  whose  monument 


90  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

is  ever  before  my  eyes  "  (she  pointed  to  the  churchyard 
as  she  spoke) .  "  Leave  this  poor  tortured  heart  in 
quiet.  It  has  already  suffered  more  than  most  hearts 
could  bear.  I  will  repose  under  the  shadow  of  that 
tomb  until  I  am  called  to  rest  within  it,  —  to  rest  by  the 
side  of  my  Bluebeard !  " 

The  ranunculuses,  rhododendra,  and  polyanthuses, 
which  ornamented  that  mausoleum,  had  somehow  been 
suffered  to  run  greatly  to  seed  during  the  last  few 
months,  and  it  was  with  no  shght  self-accusation  that 
she  acknowledged  this  fact  on  visiting  "the  garden  of 
the  grave,"  as  she  called  it ;  and  she  scolded  the  beadle 
soundly  for  neglecting  his  duty  towards  it.  He  promised 
obedience  for  the  future,  dug  out  all  tlie  weeds  that 
were  creeping  round  the  family  vault,  and  (having  charge 
of  the  key)  entered  that  awful  place,  and  swept  and 
dusted  the  melancholy  contents  of  the  tomb. 

Next  morning,  the  widow  came  down  to  breakfast 
looking  very  pale.  She  had  passed  a  bad  night;  she 
had  had  awful  dreams ;  she  had  heard  a  voice  call  her 
thrice  at  midnight.  "  Pooh !  my  dear,  it 's  only  ner- 
vousness," said  sceptical  Sister  Anne. 

Here  John  Thomas,  the  footman,  entered,  and  said 
the  beadle  was  in  tlie  hall,  looking  in  a  very  strange  way. 
He  had  been  about  the  liouse  since  daybreak,  and  in- 
sisted on  'seeing  Mrs.  Bluebeard.  "Let  him  enter," 
said  that  lady,  prepared  for  some  great  mystery.  The 
beadle  came ;  he  was  pale  as  death ;  his  hair  was  dishev- 
elled, and  his  cocked  liat  out  of  order.  "  What  have 
you  to  say  ? "  said  the  lady,  trembling. 

Before  beginning,  he  fell  down  on  his  knees. 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  91 

"  Yesterday,"  said  he,  "  according  to  your  ladyship's 
orders,  I  dug  up  the  flower-beds  of  the  family  vault, 
dusted  the  vault  and  the  —  the  coffins  (added  he,  trem- 
bling) inside.  Me  and  John  Sexton  did  it  together,  and 
polished  up  the  plate  quite  beautiful." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  allude  to  it,"  cried  the 
widow,  turning  pale. 

"  Well,  my  lady,  I  locked  the  door,  came  away,  aud 
found  in  my  hurry  —  for  I  wanted  to  beat  two  little  boys 
what  was  playmg  at  marbles  on  Alderman  Paunch's 
raonyment  —  I  found,  my  lady,  I'd  forgot  my  cane. 

"  I  could  n't  get  John  Sexton  to  go  back  with  me  till 
this  mormng,  and  I  did  n't  like  to  go  alone,  and  so  we 
went  this  morning ;  and  what  do  you  think  I  found  ?  I 
found  his  honor's  coffin  turned  round,  and  the  cane 
broke  in  two.     Here 's  the  cane  !  " 

"  Ah !  "  screamed  the  widow,  "  take  it  away,  —  take 
it  away ! " 

"  Well,  what  does  this  prove,"  said  Sister  Anne,  "  but 
that  somebody  moved  the  coffin,  and  broke  the  cane  ?  " 

"  Somebody  !  who  's  somebody  ?  "  said  the  beadle,  star- 
ing round  about  him.  And  all  of  a  sudden  he  started 
back  with  a  tremendous  roar,  that  made  the  ladies  scream 
and  all  the  glasses  on  the  sideboard  jingle,  and  cried, 
"  TAat  's  the  man!" 

He  pointed  to  the  portrait  of  Bluebeard,  which  stood 
over  the  jingling  glasses  on  the  sideboard.  "  That 's  the 
man  I  saw  last  night  walking  round  the  vault,  as  I  'm  a 
living  sinner.  I  saw  him  a-walking  round  and  round, 
and,  when  I  went  up  to  speak  to  him,  I  'm  blessed  if  he 
did  n't  go  in  at  the  iron  gate,  which  opened  afore  him 


92  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

like  —  like  mnking,  and  then  in  at  the  vault  door,  which 
I'd  double-locked,  my  lady,  and  bolted  inside,  I'll 
take  my  oath  on  it !  " 

"  Perhaps  you  had  given  him  the  key  ?  "  suggested 
Sister  Anne. 

"  It 's  never  been  out  of  my  pocket.  Here  it  is," 
cried  the  beadle;  "I'll  have  no  more  to  do  with  it." 
And  he  flung  down  the  ponderous  key,  amidst  another 
scream  from  Widow  Bluebeard. 

"  At  wliat  hour  did  you  see  him  ?  "  gasped  she. 

"  At  twelve  o'clock,  of  course." 

"  It  must  have  been  at  that  very  hour,"  said  she,  "  I 
heard  the  voice." 

"  What  voice  ?  "  said  Anne. 

"A  voice  that  called,  'Fatima!  Fatima!  Patima!* 
three  times,  as  plain  as  ever  voice  did." 

"  It  did  n't  speak  to  me,"  said  the  beadle ;  "  it  only 
nodded  its  head,  and  wagged  its  head  and  beard." 

"W — w — was  it  a  bl—ue  beard?"  said  the  \vidow. 

"  Powder-blue,  ma'am,  as  I  've  a  soul  to  save  !  " 

Dr.  Drench  was  of  course  instantly  sent  for.  But 
what  are  the  medicaments  of  the  apothecary  in  a  case 
where  the  grave  gives  up  its  dead?  Dr.  Sly  arrived, 
and  he  offered  ghostly  — ah  !  too  ghostly  — consolation. 
He  said  he  bcUeved  in  them.  His  own  grandmother  had 
appeared  to  his  grandfather  several  times  before  he 
married  again.  He  could  not  doiibt  that  supernatural 
agencies  were  possible,  even  frequent. 

"  Suppose  he  were  to  appear  to  me  alone,"  ejaculated 
the  widow,  "  I  should  die  of  IVight." 

The  doctor  looked  particularly  arch.     "  The  best  way 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  93 

in  thesa  cases,  my  dear  madam,"  said  lie,  "  tlie  best  way 
for  unprotected  ladies  is  to  get  a  husband.  1  never 
heard  of  a  first  husband's  ghost  appearing  to  a  woman 
and  her  second  husband  in  my  life.  In  all  history  there 
is  no  account  of  one." 

"  All !  why  should  I  be  afraid  of  seeing  my  Bluebeard 
again?"  said  the  widow;  and  the  doctor  retired  quite 
pleased,  for  the  lady  was  evidently  thinking  of  a  second 
husband. 

"  Tlie  captain  would  be  a  better  protector  for  mo  cer- 
tainly than  Mr.  Sly,"  thought  the  lady,  with  a  sigh; 
"but  Mr.  Sly  will  certainly  kill  himself,  and  will  the 
captain  be  a  match  for  two  ghosts  ?  Sly  will  kill  him- 
self; but  ah!  the  captain  won't."  And  the  widow 
thought  with  pangs  of  bitter  mortification  of  Dolly  Cod- 
dlins.  How  —  how  should  these  distracting  circum- 
stances be  brought  to  an  end? 

She  retired  to  rest  that  night  not  without  a  tremor,  — 
to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  At  midnight  a  voice  was  heard 
in  her  room,  crying,  "  Fatima !  Fatima !  Fatima !  "  in 
awful  accents.  The  doors  banged  to  and  fro,  the  bells 
began  to  ring,  the  maids  went  up  and  down  stairs  skurry- 
ing  and  screaming,  and  gave  warning  in  a  body.  John 
Thomas,  as  pale  as  death,  declared  that  he  found  Blue- 
beard's yeomanry  sword,  that  hung  in  the  hall,  drawn, 
and  on  the  ground ;  and  the  sticking-plaster  miniature  in 
Mr.  Bluebeard's  bedroom  was  found  turned  topsy-turvy ! 

"  It  is  some  trick,"  said  the  obstinate  and  incredulous 
Sister  Anne.  "  To-night  I  will  come  and  sleep  with  you, 
sister."  And  the  night  came,  and  the  two  sisters  retired 
together. 


94  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

'T  was  a  wild  night.  Tlie  wind  howling  without  went 
crasliing  through  the  old  trees  of  the  old  rookery  round 
about  the  old  church.  The  long  bedroom  windows 
went  thump  thumping ;  the  moon  could  be  seen  through 
them  lighting  up  the  graves  with  their  ghastly  shadows ; 
the  yew-tree,  cut  into  the  shape  of  a  bird,  looked  par- 
ticularly dreadful,  and  bent  and  swayed  as  if  it  would 
peck  something  off  that  other  yew-tree  which  was  of  the 
shape  of  a  dumb-waiter.  The  bells  at  midnight  began  to 
ring  as  usual,  the  doors  clapped,  jingle — jingle  down 
came  a  suit  of  armor  in  the  hall,  and  a  voice  came  and 
cried,  "Fatima!  Fatima!  Fatima!  look,  look,  look;  the 
tomb,  the  tomb,  the  tomb !  " 

She  looked.  The  vault  door  was  open,  and  there  in 
the  moonhght  stood  Bluebeard,  exactly  as  he  was  repre- 
sented in  the  picture,  in  his  yeomanry  dress,  his  face 
frightfully  pale,  and  his  great  blue  beard  curling  over 
his  chest,  as  awful  as  Mr.  Muntz's. 

Sister  Anne  saw  the  vision  as  well  as  Fatima.  We 
shall  spare  the  account  of  their  terrors  and  screams. 
Strange  to  say,  John  Thomas,  who  slept  in  the  attic 
above  his  mistress's  bedroom,  declared  he  was  on  the 
watch  all  night,  and  had  seen  nothing  in  the  churchyard, 
and  heard  no  sort  of  voices  in  the  house. 

And  now  the  question  came,  Wliat  could  the  ghost 
want  by  appearing  ?  "  Is  there  anything,"  exclaimed 
the  unhappy  and  perplexed  Fatima,  "  that  he  would  have 
me  do  ?  It  is  well  to  say  '  now,  now,  now,'  and  to  show 
himself;  but  what  is  it  that  makes  my  blessed  husband 
so  uneasy  in  his  grave  ? "  And  all  parties  consulted 
agreed  that  it  was  a  very  sensible  question. 


BLUEBEARb's    GHOST.  95 

Joliii  Thomas,  the  footman,  whose  excessive  terror  at 
the  appearance  of  the  ghost  had  procured  him  his  mis- 
tress's confidence,  advised  Mr.  Screw,  the  butler,  who 
communicated  with  Mrs.  Baggs,  the  housekeepei",  who 
condescended  to  impart  her  observations  to  Mrs.  Bustle, 
the  lady's-maid,  —  John  Thomas,  I  say,  decidedly  ad- 
vised that  my  lady  should  consult  a  cunning  man. 
There  was  such  a  man  in  town ;  he  had  prophesied  who 
should  marry  his  (John  Thomas's)  cousin ;  he  had  cured 
Farmer  Horn's  cattle,  which  were  evidently  bewitched ; 
he  could  raise  ghosts,  and  make  them  speak,  and  he 
therefore  was  the  very  person  to  be  consulted  in  the 
present  juncture. 

"  What  nonsense  is  this  you  have  been  talking  to  the 
maids,  John  Thomas,  about  the  conjurer  who  lives  in  — 
in  —  " 

"  In  Hangman's  Lane,  ma'am,  where  the  gibbet  used 
to  stand,"  replied  John,  who  was  bringing  in  the  muf- 
fins. "  It 's  no  nonsense,  my  lady.  Every  word  as  that 
man  says  comes  true,  and  he  knows  everything." 

"  I  desire  you  will  not  frighten  the  girls  in  the  ser- 
vants' ball  with  any  of  those  silly  stories,"  said  the 
widow ;  and  the  meaning  of  this  speech  may,  of  course, 
at  once  be  guessed.  It  was  that  the  widow  meant  to 
consult  the  conjurer  that  very  night.  Sister  Anne  said 
that  she  would  never,  under  such  circumstances,  desert 
her  dear  Fatima.  John  Thomas  was  summoned  to  at- 
tend the  ladies  with  a  dark  lantern,  and  forth  they  set 
on  their  perilous  visit  to  the  conjurer  at  his  dreadful 
abode  in  Hangman's  Lane. 


96  LITTLE*  CLASSICS. 

What  took  place  at  that  frightful  interview  has  never 
been  entirely  kuoMii.  But  there  was  no  disturbance  in 
the  house  on  the  night  after.  The  bells  slept  quite 
quietly,  tlie  doors  did  not  bang  in  the  least,  twelve 
o'clock  struck,  and  no  ghost  appeared  in  the  churchyard, 
and  the  whole  family  had  a  quiet  night.  The  widow 
attributed  this  to  a  sprig  of  rosemary  which  the  wizard 
gave  her,  and  a  horseshoe  which  she  flung  into  the  gar- 
den round  the  family  vault,  and  which  would  keep  any 
ghost  quiet. 

It  happened  the  next  day,  that,  going  to  her  milliner's. 
Sister  Anne  met  a  gentleman  who  has  been  before  men- 
tioned in  this  story,  Ensign  Trippet  by  name ;  and,  in- 
deed, if  the  truth  must  be  known,  it  somehow  happened 
that  she  met  the  ensign  somewhere  every  day  of  the  week. 

"What  news  of  the  ghost,  my  dearest  Miss  Shaca- 
bac  ?  "  said  he  (you  may  guess  on  what  terms  the  two 
young  people  were  by  the  manner  in  which  Mr.  Trippet 
addressed  the  lady) ;  "  has  Bluebeard's  ghost  frightened 
your  sister  into  any  more  fits,  or  set  the  bells  a-ring- 
ing?" 

Sister  Anne,  with  a  very  grave  air,  told  him  that  he 
must  not  joke  on  so  awful  a  subject,  that  the  ghost  had 
been  laid  for  a  while,  that  a  cunning  man  had  told  her 
sister  things  so  wonderful  that  any  man  must  believe  in 
them  ;  that  among  other  things,  he  had  shown  to  Fatima 
her  future  husband. 

"  Had,"  said  the  ensign,  "  he  black  whiskers  and  a 
red  coat?" 

"No,"  answered  Aune,  with  a  sigh,  "he  had  red 
whiskers  and  a  black  coat." 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  97 

"  It  can't  be  that  rascal  Sly ! "  cried  the  ensign.  But 
Anne  only  sighed  more  deeply  and  would  not  answer 
yes  or  no.  "  You  may  tell  the  poor  captain,"  she  said, 
"  there  is  no  hope  for  him,  and  all  he  has  left  is  to  hang 
himself." 

"  He  shall  cut  the  throat  of  Sly  first,  though,"  replied 
Mr.  Trippet,  fiercely.  But  Anne  said  things  were  not 
decided  as  yet.  Fatima  was  exceedingly  restive,  and 
unwilling  to  acquiesce  in  the  idea  of  being  married  to 
Mr.  Sly ;  she  had  asked  for  further  authority.  The  wiz- 
ard said  he  could  bring  her  own  husband  from  the  grave 
to  point  out  her  second  bridegroom,  who  shall  be,  can 
be,  must  be,  no  other  than  Frederick  Sly. 

"  It  is  a  trick,"  said  the  ensign ;  but  Anne  was  too 
much  frightened  by  the  preceding  evening's  occurrences 
to  say  so.  "To-night,"  she  said,  "the  grave  will  tell 
all."  And  she  left  Ensign  Trippet  in  a  very  solemn  and 
affecting  way. 

At  midnight,  three  figures  were  seen  to  issue  from 
Widow  Bluebeard's  house,  and  pass  through  the  church- 
yard turnstile,  and  so  away  among  the  graves. 

"  To  call  up  a  ghost  is  bad  enough,"  said  the  wizard ; 
"to  make  him  speak  is  awful.  I  recommend  you,- 
ma'am,  to  beware,  for  such  curiosity  has  been  fatal  to 
many.  There  was  one  Arabian  necromancer  of  my 
acquaintance  who  tried  to  make  a  ghost  speak,  and  was 
torn  in  pieces  on  the  spot.  There  was  another  person 
wlio  did  hear  a  ghost  speak  certainly,  but  came  away 
from  the  interview  deaf  and  dumb.  Tliere  was  an- 
other—" 

VOL.  IX.  5  O 


98  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Never  mind,"  says  Mrs.  Bluebeard,  all  her  old  curi- 
osity aroused,  "  see  him  and  hear  him  I  will.  Have  n't 
I  seen  him  and  heard  him,  too,  already  ?  When  he 's 
audible  and  visible,  then 's  the  time." 

"  But  when  you  heard  him,"  said  the  necromancer, 
*'  he  was  invisible,  and  when  you  saw  him  he  was  inau- 
dible ;  so  make  up  your  mind  what  you  will  ask  him,  for 
ghosts  will  stand  no  shilly-shallying.  I  knew  a  stut^ 
tering  man  who  was  flung  down  by  a  ghost,  and  — " 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Fatima,  interrupting 
him. 

"  To  ask  him  what  husband  you  shall  take,"  whispered 
Anne. 

Fatima  only  turned  red,  and  Sister  Anne  squeezed  her 
Land ;  they  passed  into  the  graveyard  in  silence. 

There  was  no  moon ;  the  night  was  pitch  dark.  They 
threaded  their  way  through  the  graves,  stumbling  over 
them  here  and  there.  An  owl  was  toowhooing  from  the 
church  tower,  a  dog  was  howlmg  somewhere,  a  cock 
began  to  crow,  as  they  will  sometimes  at  twelve  o'clock 
at  night. 

"Make  haste,"  said  the  wizard.  "Decide  whether 
you  will  go  on  or  not." 

"  Let  us  go  back,  sister,"  said  Anne. 

"  I  will  go  on,"  said  Fatima.  "  I  should  die  if  I  gave 
it  up,  I  feel  I  should." 

"  Here 's  the  gate ;  kneel  down,"  said  the  wizard. 
The  women  knelt  down. 

"  Will  you  see  your  first  husband  or  your  second  hus- 
band?" 

"  I  will  see  Bluebeard  first,"  said  the  widow ;  "  T  shall 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  99 

know  then  wlietlier  tliis  be  a  mockery,  or  you  have  the 
power  you  pretend  to." 

At  this  the  wizard  uttered  an  hacantation,  so  friglitful, 
and  of  such  incomprehensible  words,  that  it  is  impossible 
for  any  mortal  man  to  repeat  them.  And  at  the  end  of 
what  seemed  to  be  a  versicle  of  his  chant  he  called  Blue- 
beard. There  was  no  noise  but  the  moaning  of  the  wind 
in  the  trees,  and  the  toowhooing  of  the  owl  in  the  tower. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  verse  he  paused  again,  and 
called  Bluebeard.  The  cock  began  to  crow,  the  dog  be- 
gan to  howl,  a  watchman  in  the  town  began  to  cry  out 
the  hour,  and  there  came  from  the  vault  within  a  hollow 
groan,  and  a  dreadful  voice  said,  "  Who  wants  me  ?  " 

Kneeling  m  front  of  the  tomb,  the  necromancer  began 
the  third  verse.  As  he  spoke,  the  former  phenomena 
were  still  to  be  remarked.  As  he  continued,  a  number 
of  ghosts  rose  from  their  graves,  and  advanced  rouud 
the  kneeling  figures  in  a  circle.  As  he  concludsd,  with 
a  loud  bang  the  door  of  the  vault  flew  open,  and  thera 
in  blue  light  stood  Bluebeard  in  his  blue  uniform,  wav- 
ing his  blue  sword,  and  flashing  his  blue  eyes  round 
about ! 

"  Speak  now,  or  you  are  lost,"  said  the  necromancer 
to  Fatima.  But,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  had 
not  a  word  to  say.  Sister  Anne,  too,  was  dumb  with 
terror.  And,  as  the  awful  figure  advanced  towards  them 
as  they  were  kneeling,  the  sister  thought  all  was  over 
with  them,  and  Fatima  once  more  had  occasion  to  repent 
\\^x  fatal  curiosity. 

The  figure  advanced,  saying,  in  dreadful  accsnts, 
"  Fatima !  Fatima !  Fatima !  wherefore  am  I  called  from 


100  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

my  grave  ? "  when  all  of  a  sudden  down  dropped  Lis 
sword,  down  the  ghost  of  Bluebeard  went  on  liis  knees, 
and,  clasping  his  hands  together,  roared  out,  "  Murder, 
mercy ! "  as  loud  as  man  could  roar. 

Six  other  ghosts  stood  round  the  kneeling  group. 
"  Wliy  do  you  call  me  from  the  tomb  ?  "  said  the  first ; 
"  Who  dares  disturb  my  grave  ? "  said  the  second ; 
•'  Seize  him  and  away  with  him ! "  cried  the  third. 
"  Murder,  mercy  !  "  still  roared  the  ghost  of  Bluebeard, 
as  the  white-robed  spirits  advanced  and  caught  hold  of 
him. 

"It's  on]y  Tom  Trippet,"  said  a  voice  at  Anne's  ear. 

"And  your  very  humble  servant,"  said  a  voice  well 
known  to  Mrs.  Bluebeard  ;  and  they  helped  the  ladies  to 
rise,  while  the  other  ghosts  seized  Bluebeard.  The  nec- 
rouiancer  took  to  his  heels  and  got  off;  he  wiis  found 
to  be  no  other  than  Mr.  Claptrap,  the  manager  of  the 
theatre. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  ghost  of  Bluebeard  could 
recover  from  the  faiuting-fit  uito  which  he  had  been 
plunged  when  seized  by  the  opposition  ghosts  in  white ; 
and  while  they  were  ducking  him  at  the  pump  his  blue 
beard  came  oil",  and  he  was  discovered  to  be  —  who  do 
you  think  P  Why,  Mr.  Sly,  to  be  sure ;  and  it  appears 
that  John  Thomas,  the  footman,  had  Icilt  him  the  uni- 
form, and  had  clapped  the  doors,  and  rung  the  bells,  and 
spoken  down  the  chinniey  ;  and  it  was  Mr.  Claptrap  who 
g;xvc  Mr.  Sly  the  blue  fire  and  the  theatre  gong ;  and  he 
went  to  London  next  morning  by  the  coach ;  and,  as  it 
was  discovered  that  the  story  concerning  Miss  Coddlins 
was  a  shameful  calunuiy,  why,  of  course,  the  widow  mar- 


BLUEBEARD'S    GHOST.  101 

ried  Captain  Blackbeard.  Dr.  Sly  married  them,  and 
has  always  declared  that  he  knew  nothing  of  his  neph- 
ew's doings,  and  wondered  that  he  has  not  tried  to  com- 
mit suicide  since  his  last  disappointment. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trippet  are  likewise  living  happily  to- 
gether, and  this,  I  am  given  to  understand,  is  the  ulti- 
mate fate  of  a  family  in  whom  we  were  all  very  much 
interested  in  early  hfe. 

You  will  say  that  the  story  is  not  probable.  Pshaw ! 
Is  n't  it  written  in  a  book  ?  and  is  it  a  whit  less  probable 
than  the  first  part  of  the  tale  ? 


THE   PICNIC   PARTY. 


BY  HORACE  SMITH. 


0  give  a  picnic  party  a  fair  chance  of  sncccss, 
it  must  be  almost  impromptu :  projected  at 
twelve  o'clock  at  nigiit  at  the  earliest,  exe- 
cuted at  twelve  o'clock  on  the  following  day  at  the 
latest ;  and  even  then  the  odds  are  fearfully  against  it. 
The  climate  of  England  is  not  remarkable  for  knowing 
its  own  mind ;  nor  is  the  weather  "  so  fixed  in  its  re- 
solve "  but  that  a  bright  August  moon,  suspended  in  a 
clear  sky,  may  be  lady-usher  to  a  morn  of  fog,  sleet,  and 
drizzle.  Then,  again,  —  but  this  being  tender  ground,  we 
will  only  hint  at  the  possibility  of  such  a  change,  —  a  lady 
of  the  intended  party  might  quit  the  drawing-room  at 
night  in  the  sweetest  humor  imagiuable,  and  make  lier 
appearance  at  breakfast  in  a  less  amiable  mood,  or,  per- 
haps, "  prefer  taking  breakfast  in  her  own  room,"  — 
from  which  notice  husbands  sometimes  infer  that  such 
a  change  has  taken  place. 

Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw,  a  retired  silk  mercer,  in  the 
vicinity  of  London,  determined,  notwithstanding  all  those 
arguments,  to  have  a  picnic  party  ou  the  24th  of  August, 


THE    PICNIC    PAE,TY.  103 

his  wedding-day.  On  the  3d  of  July,  Mr.  Claudius  Bag- 
shaw,  after  eating  liis  breakfast  and  reading  the  Morning 
Post,  looked  out  of  his  parlor  window  to  watch  the 
horticultural  pursuits  of  his  better  part.  Mr.  Bagshaw 
had  become  a  member  of  one  of  the  "  march-of-intellect- 
societies,"  and  was  confident  that  the  picnic  would  turn 
out  a  very  pleasant  thing. 

"How  fortunate  we  shall  be,  dear,"  said  Mr.  Bag- 
shaw, "how  happy  we  shall  be,  if  the  weather  should 
be  as  fine  on  our  wedding-day  as  it  is  now." 

"True,  love,"  replied  Mi-s.  Bagshaw;  "but  this  is 
only  the  3d  of  July,  aud,  as  the  anniversary  of  our 
happy  day  is  the  2tlth  of  August,  the  weather  may 
change." 

This  proposition  Mr.  Bagshaw  did  not  attempt  to 
deny. 

The  Bagshaws  were  the  happiest  couple  in  the  world. 
Being  blessed  with  the  negative  blessing  of  no  offspring, 
the  stream  of  their  affections  was  not  diverted  into  little 
channels,  but  ebbed  and  flowed  in  one  uninterrupted  tide 
reciprocally  from  bosom  to  bosom.  They  never  dis- 
puted, they  never  quarrelled.  Yes,  they  did  sometimes, 
but  then  it  was  from  a  mutual  over-anxiety  to  please. 
Each  was  afraid  to  pronounce  a  choice,  or  a  preference, 
lest  it  might  be  disagreeable  to  the  other;  and  hence 
there  occasionally  did  arise  little  bickerings,  and  tiffiiigs, 
and  raifiiiigs,  which  were  quite  as  unpleasant  in  their 
effects,  and  sometimes  as  difficult  to  settle,  as  quarrels 
originating  in  less  amiable  causes. 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Bagshaw,  referring  to  the  barometer, 
"the  instrument  for  indicating  the  present  state  and 


104  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

probable  changes  of  the  weather  still  maintains  its  ele- 
vation, and  I  tell  you  what,  dear,  if  the  weather  should 
be  preposterous  on  the  2  Ath  of  August,  suppose,  instead 
of  going  into  the  north,  as  we  did  last  year,  we  migrate 
into  Kent  or  Surrey  ?  Instead  of  dining  at  Hampstead, 
as  we  did  last  year,  shall  we  go  to  Greenwich,  or  to  Put- 
ney, and  eat  little  fishes  ?  " 

"  Whichever  you  like,  love,"  was  the  lady's  answer  to 
the  so-intended  question. 

"  But  I  put  it  to  your  choice,  dear." 

"  Either  —  or  neither  —  please  yourself,  love,  and  you 
are  sure  you  will  please  me." 

"  Pshaw !  but  it  is  for  the  gratification  of  your  —  or, 
more  properly  speaking,  for  your  gratification.  I  submit 
to  you  an  alternative  for  the  purpose  of  election;  and 
you  know,  Jane,  I  repudiate  indifference,  even  as  con- 
cerning or  applying  to  trifles." 

"You  know,  Claudius,  we  have  but  one  wish,  and 
that  is  to  please  each  other;  so  do  you  decide." 

"But,  Mrs.  Bagshaw,  I  must  promulgate  a  request 
that  —  having,  as  1  have,  no  desire  but  to  please  you  — 
you  will  —  " 

"How,  sir!  would  you  force  me  to  choose,  when  I 
am  so  obedient  as  to  choose  that  you  should  have  the 
choice  entirely  your  own  way  ?  This  treatment  of  me 
is  monstrous ! " 

And  here  Mrs.  Bagshaw  did  what  is  usual  and  proper 
for  ladies  to  do  on  such  occasions,  —  she  burst  into 
tears. 

"Why,  then,  madam,  to  use  a  strong  expression,  I 
must  say  that  —  " 


THE    PICNIC    PARTY.  105 

But  a  loud  rap  at  the  street-door  prevented  the  ut- 
terauce  of  an  "expression,"  the  force  of  which  would 
doubtless  have  humbled  Mrs.  Claudius  Bagshaw  down 
to  the  very  dust. 

"Claudius,"  said  the  lady,  hastily  drying  her  eyes, 
"that  is  Uncle  John's  knock.     We  '11  go  to  Gre — Put 

—  Greenwich,  love." 

"  That 's  well,  dear ;  and  be  assured,  love,  that  noth- 
ing is  so  adverse  to  the  constitution  of  what  Locke 
emphatically  calls  the  human  mind,  philosophically  con- 
sidered, as  to  persevere  in  that  state  of  indecision  which 

—  that  —  whereof  —  but  we  will  not  go  to  either ;  Uncle 
Jolin  shall  select  the  locality." 

Uncle  John  was  a  bachelor  of  fifty-five,  possessing 
twelve  thousand  pounds,  a  strong  disinclination  to  part 
with  any  of  them,  a  good  heart,  and  a  bad  temper. 

"  Good  morning  t'  ye,  good  folks ;  as  usual,  I  perceive, 
billing  and  cooing." 

The  Bagshaws  had  by  this  time  got  together  in  a 
corner  of  the  garden,  and  were  lovingly  occupied  in 
trimming  the  same  pot  of  sweet  peas. 

"Quite  the  contrary,  Uncle  John,"  said  Mrs.  Bag- 
shaw. "  Claudius  and  I  have  just  had  one  of  our 
most  desperate  quarrels." 

And  here  the  happy  pair  giggled,  and  exchanged  looks 
which  were  meant  to  imply  that  their  most  desperate 
quarrels  were  mere  kitten's  play ;  and  that  Uncle  John 
did  so  interpret  them,  he  made  manifest  by  a  knowing 
sliake  of  his  forefinger. 

"  The  fact  is,  sir,  Jane  and  I  talk  of  commemorating 
the  annual  recurrence  of  the  anuiversary  of  our  wedding- 
5* 


106  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

day,  at  some  place  a  leetle  farther  in  the  country ;  but 
our  minds  are  in  a  perfect  vacuum  concerning  the  iden- 
tity of  the  spot.  Now,  sir,  will  you  reduce  the  place  to 
a  mathematical  certainty,  and  be  one  of  the  party  ?  " 

"  Why  —  um  —  no ;  these  things  are  expensive ;  we 
come  home  at  night  with  a  guinea  apiece  less  in  our 
pockets,  and  I  don't  see  the  good  of  that." 

"  I  have  it !  "  cried  Bagshaw ;  "  we  '11  make  it  a  pic- 
nic ;  that  won't  be  expensive." 

"  Then  I  'm  with  you,  Bagshaw,  with  all  my  heart,  — 
and  it  shall  be  alfresco." 

"There  or  anywhere  else  you  please,  sir,"  gravely 
replied  the  learned  member  of  the  universal-knowledge- 
warehouse. 

"Uncle  John  means  in  the  open  air,  Claudius;  that 
tcill  be  dehghtful." 

"  Charming !  "  rejoined  Bagshaw. 

It  may  be  inquired  why  Uncle  John,  who  objected  to 
the  disbursement  of  a  guinea  for  a  day's  pleasure,  should 
so  readily  have  yielded  at  the  suggestion  of  a  picnic. 
Uncle  John  possessed  a  neat  little  morocco  pocket-case, 
containing  a  dozen  silver  spoons,  and  silver-handled 
knives  and  forks,  and  although  we  are  told  that  these 
implements  are  of  later  invention  than  fingers,  there  is, 
nevertheless,  a  very  general  bias  in  their  favor,  for  the 
purpose  to  which  they  are  applied.  Now,  Uncle  John 
being  aware  of  the  prevalence  of  their  employment,  it 
was  for  this  reason  he  never  objected  to  make  one  of  a 
picnic  party ;  for,  whilst  others  contributed  chickens, 
pigeon-pies,  or  wines,  —  it  being  the  principle  of  such 
parties  that  each  member  should  furnish  something  to 


THE    PICNIC    PARTY.  107 

the  feast, — Uncle  John  invariably  contributed  the  use 
of  his  knives,  forks,  and  spoons. 

The  whole  morning  was  spent  in  debating  on  who 
should  be  invited  to  partake  of  this  "pleasantest  thing 
that  ever  was,"  and  examining  into  their  several  preten- 
sions, and  their  powers  of  contributing  to  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  day ;  when,  at  length,  the  honor  of  nomi- 
nation was  conferred  upon  the  persons  following,  and 
for  the  reasons  assigned :  — 

Sir  Thomas  and  Lady  Grouts  —  because  of  their  title, 
wliich  would  give  an  air  to  the  thing — (Sir  Thomas, 
formerly  a  corn-chandler,  having  been  knighted  for  car- 
rying up  an  address  in  the  late  reign).  Miss  Euphe- 
mia  Grouts,  daughter  No.  1 — who  would  bring  her 
guitar.  Miss  Corinna  Grouts,  ditto  No.  2  —  because 
she  would  shig. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Snodgrass  —  Mr.  Snodgrass  being  vice- 
president  of  the  grand  junction  march-of-intellect  society. 
Mr.  Frederick  Snodgrass,  their  son  (lately  called  to  the 
cjiancery  bar),  who  would  bring  his  flute. 

Messrs.  Wrench  and  son  (eminent  dentists).  The 
father  to  be  invited  because  he  was  charming  company, 
and  the  son,  a  dead  bore,  because  the  father  would  be 
offended  if  lie  were  not.     And,  lastly. 

Miss  Snubbleston,  a  rich  maiden  lady  of  forty-four,  for 
no  other  earthly  quahfication  whatever  than  her  carriage, 
which  (to  use  Bagshaw's  words)  would  carry  herself  and 
ns  three,  and  also  transplant  a  large  portion  of  the  prov- 
ender to  the  place  of  rendezvous. 

Bagshaw  havmg  made  out  a  fair  copy  of  this  list, 
somewhat  in  the  shape  of  a  bill  of  parcels,  this,  the 


108  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

first  step  towards  the  "pleasantest  tiling  that  ever 
was,"  was  taken  with  entire  satisfaction. 

"Why,  Bagshaw,"  exclaimed  Uncle  John,  who  had 
cast  up  the  numbers,  "including  our  three  selves,  we 
shall  be  thirteen !  " 

The  member  of  the  institution  perceived  the  cause  of 
his  alarm  !  but  having  been  lectured  out  of  prejudices  re- 
si)ccting  matters  of  greater  moment  than  this,  he  prepared 
a  look  of  inelfable  contempt  as  his  only  reply ;  however, 
happening  to  think  of  Uncle  John's  twelve  thousand 
pounds,  he  suppressed  it,  and  just  contented  himself  with, 

"  And  what  then,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  then,  sir,  that  is  a  risk  I  won't  run ;  and  un- 
less we  can  manage  to  —  I  have  it !  the  very  man.  How 
came  we  to  forget  him  ?  The  —  very  —  man  !  You  know 
Jack  Richards ?" 

The  last  four  words  were  delivered  in  a  tone  implying 
the  utter  impossibility  of  any  human  creature  being  un- 
acquainted with  Jack  Richards. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  sir.     I  never  lieard  of  him." 

"What!  never  heard  of  Ja —  The  thing  is  im- 
possible; everybody  knows  Jack  Richards.  The  very 
thing  for  us ;  such  a  wit !  such  a  wag !  —  he  is  the  life 
and  soul  of  everything.  Should  he  be  unengaged  for 
the  24'th  of  August.  But  he  is  so  caught  up !  I  was 
invited  to  meet  him  at  dinner  last  Sunday  at  Jones's, 
but  he  did  n't  come.  Such  a  disappointment  to  us ! 
However,  I  shall  meet  him  on  Thursday  at  the  Tims's, 
if  he  should  but  keep  his  promise,  and  then  —  " 

"But,  uncle,"  said  Mrs.  Bagshaw,  "hadn't  you  bet- 
ter send  him  an  uivitation  at  once  ?  " 


THE    PICNIC    PAUTY.  109 

"  I  '11  do  better  still,  my  dear ;  I  '11  call  at  his  lodg- 
ings, and  if  I  find  him  hanging  loose,  I  '11  bring  him  to 
dine  with  you  to-day."  Then,  turning  to  Bagshaw,  he 
added,  "  That  a  man  like  you  should  n't  know  Jack 
Richards,  is  surprising !  " 

As  this  was  evidently  pointed  at  Mr.  Claudius  Bag- 
shaw in  his  capacity  of  member  of  a  learned  body,  Bag- 
shaw pursed  up  his  mouth  into  a  mock-modesty  smile, 
and  sliglitly  bowed.  Off  went  Uncle  John  in  quest  of 
Jack  Richards;  and,  that  the  pleasantest  thing  in  the 
world  might  not  suffer  by  delay,  off  went  Mr.  Bagshaw 
to  apprize  the  Snodgrasses,  the  Groutses,  and  the  rest 
of  the  nominees ;  and,  more  important  still,  off  went  the 
lady  to  the  poulterer's,  to  inquire  whether  he  was  likely 
to  have  any  nice  pigeons  for  a  pie,  about  the  twenty-third 
of  next  month.  Tiie  dinner-hour  arrived,  and  so  did 
Uncle  John,  but  with  a  face  of  unspeakable  woe. 

"  1  feared  how  it  would  be." 

"  What !  can't  he  be  with  us  on  the  24th  ?  "  inquired 
both  the  Bagshaws  at  the  same  instant. 

"  He  will  if  he  can ;  but  he  won't  promise.  But  to- 
day !  —  However,  it  serves  us  right ;  we  were  unwise 
to  indulge  a  hope  of  his  coming  at  so  short  a  notice. 
He  has  almost  engaged  himself  to  you  for  Sunday  fort- 
night, though.  What  a  creature  it  is !  —  he  has  given 
me  such  a  pain  in  my  side ! " 

"  Something  he  said  that  almost  killed  you  with  laugh- 
ing ?     Repeat  it,  uncle,  repeat  it." 

"  Why,  no,  he  did  n't  say  anything  particular ;  but  he 
has  a  knack  of  poking  one  in  the  ribs,  iu  his  comical 
"Way,  and  sometimes  he  hurts  you." 


110  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

We  intended  to  describe  Jack  Richards  at  length; 
Uncle  John's  accidental  notice  of  tliis  trait  has,  most 
[Tobably,  rendered  that  trouble  unnecessary.  Indeed, 
we  feel  that  we  need  scarcely  add  to  it,  that  he  can  sing 
a  devilish  good  song  (and  everybody  knows  what  is 
meant  by  that),  and  imitated  the  inimitable  Mathews's 
imitations  of  the  actors,  not  even  excepting  his  imitation 
of  Tate  Wilkinson's  imitation  of  Garrick. 

Except  the  uncertainty  of  Jack  Richards,  the  result 
of  the  morning's  occupation  was  satisfactory.  Bagshaw, 
still  retaining  his  old  business-like  habits  of  activity  and 
industry,  had  contrived  to  wait  on  every  person  named, 
in  the  list,  all  of  whom  had  pron)ised  their  attendance ; 
and  Mrs.  Bagshaw  had  received  from  the  poulterer  a 
positive  assurance  that  he  would  raise  heaven  and  earth 
to  supply  her  with  pigeons  on  the  23d  of  the  ensuing 
August ! 

Committees  were  forthwith  summoned.  First,  a  com- 
mittee to  consider  of  the  whereabout.  At  this,  after  an 
evening  of  polite  squabbling,  which  had  nearly  put  an 
end  to  the  project  altogether,  Twickenham  meadows 
received  the  honor  of  selection,  —  nem.  con.  as  Bagshaw 
said.  Next,  lest  it  should  happen,  as  it  did  once  happen, 
for  want  of  such  preconcert,  that  a  picnic  party  of  ten 
found  themselves  at  their  place  of  meeting  with  ten  fillets 
of  veal  and  ten  hams,  Mr.  Bagshaw  called  a  committee 
of  "provender."  Here  it  was  settled  that  the  Snod- 
grasses  should  contribute  four  chickens  and  a  tongue; 
the  Bagshaws,  their  pigeon-pie;  Wrench  and  son,  a 
ham ;  Sir  Thomas  Grouts,  a  hamper  of  his  own  choice 
wiue;  Miss  Snubbleston,  a  basket  of  fruit  and  pastry; 


THE    PICNIC    PARTY.  Ill 

Uncle  John,  his  silver  spoons,  knives,  and  forks;  and 
Jack  Richards  —  his  charming  company.  And  lastly 
came  the  committee  for  general  purposes !  At  this  im- 
portant meeting,  it  was  agreed  that  the  party  proceed 
to  Twickenham  by  water;  that  to  save  the  trouble  of 
loading  and  unloading,  Miss  Suubbleston's  carriage  con- 
vey the  hampers,  etc.,  direct  to  the  place  appointed, — 
the  said  carriage,  moreover,  serving  to  bring  the  ladies 
to  town,  should  the  evenmg  prove  cold;  that,  for  the 
water-music,  the  following  programme  be  adopted:  1. 
On  reaching  Vauxhall  Bridge,  the  concert  to  commence 
with  Madame  Pasta's  grand  scena  in  "  Medea,"  previous 
to  the  murder  of  the  children,  by  Miss  Corinna  Grouts. 
2.  Nicholson's  grand  flute  concerto  in  five  sharps,  by 
Mr.  Frederick  Snodgrass.  3.  Grand  aria,  with  varia- 
tions, guitar,  by  Miss  Euphemia  Grouts.  4.  Sweet 
Bird;  accompaniment,  flute  obligato.  Miss  C.  G.  and 
Mr.  F.  S.  — and  5.  The  Dettingen  Te  Deum  (arranged 
for  three  voices,  by  Mr.  F.  S.)  by  Miss  Euphemia,  Miss 
Corinna,  and  Mr.  Frederick  Snodgrass.  The  "inter- 
stices," as  Mr.  Bagshaw  called  them,  to  be  fiUed  up  by 
the  amusing  talents  of  the  elder  Wrench  and  Uncle 
John's  friend.  And,  lastly,  that  the  company  do  assem- 
ble at  Mr.  Bagshaw's  on  the  morning  of  the  24th  of 
August,  at  ten  o'clock  precisely,  in  order  to  have  the 
advantage  of  the  tide  both  ways. 

Three  days  prior  to  the  important  24th,  Mr.  Bagshaw 
went  to  cngxge  the  boat,  but,  in  a  squabble  with  the 
boatman,  Mr.  B.  got  a  black  eye.  This  was  the  first 
mishap.  • 

Restless  and  impatient  though  you  be,  depend  upon 


113  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

it,  there  is  not  a  day  of  the  whole  three  liiindred  and 
sixtj-five  will  put  itself,  in  the  slightest  degree,  out  of 
the  way,  or  appear  one  second  before  its  appointed  time, 
for  your  gratification.  O  tiiat  people  would  consider 
this,  and  await  events  with  patience !  Certainly  Mr. 
Bagshaw  did  not.  The  night  of  the  23d  to  him  ap- 
peared an  age.  His  repeater  was  in  his  hand  every  ten 
minutes.  He  thought  the  morning  would  never  dawn, 
—  but  he  was  mistaken ;  it  did ;  and  as  fine  a  morning 
as  if  it  had  been  made  on  purpose  to  favor  his  excur- 
sion. By  six  o'clock  he  was  dressed !  —  by  eight  the 
contributions  from  all  the  members  had  arrived,  and 
were  ranged  in  the  passage.  There  was  their  own 
pigeon-pie,  carefully  packed  in  brown  paper  and  straw ; 
Sir  Thomas's  hamper  of  his  own  choice  wine ;  and  the 
rest.  Everything  promised  fairly.  The  young  ladies 
and  Mr.  Frederick  had  had  thirty  rehearsals  of  their 
grand  arias  and  concertos,  and  were  perfect  to  a  demv- 
semiquaver ;  Jack  Richards  would  certainly  come ;  and 
the  only  drawback  upon  Mr.  Bagshaw's  personal  enjoy- 
ment —  but  nothing  in  this  world  is  perfect  —  was  the 
necessity  he  was  under  of  wearing  his  green  shade, 
which  would  totally  deprive  him  of  the  pleasure  of  con- 
templating the  beauties  of  the  Thames  scenery,  —  a 
thing  he  had  set  his  heart  upon.     Nine !  ten ! 

"  No  one  here  yet !  Jane,  mj  love,  we  shall  infallibly 
lose  the  tide."  And  for  the  next  quarter  of  an  hour  the 
place  of  the  poor  repeater  was  no  sinecure. 

A  knock !  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Snodgrass  and  Mr.  Fred- 
erick. Another !  The  whole  family  of  the  Groutses. 
Next  came  Mr.  Charles  Wrench. 


THE    PICNIC    PARTY.  113 

"  Bless  us !  Mr.  Charles,"  said  Bagshaw,  "  where  is 
your  father  ?  " 

Now,  Mr.  Wreuch,  senior,  was  an  agreeable  old  den- 
tist, always  gay,  generally  humorous,  sometimes  witty ; 
he  could  sketch  characters  as  well  as  draw  teeth ;  and, 
on  occasions  of  this  kind,  was  invaluable.  The  son  was 
a  mere  donkey ;  a  silly,  simpering,  well-dressed  young 
gentleman,  the  owner  of  no  more  than  the  eighth  of  an 
idea,  and  of  a  very  fine  set  of  teeth,  which  he  constantly 
exhibited  like  a  sign  or  advertisement  of  his  shop. 
Appended  to  everything  he  uttered  were  a  preface  and 
postscript,  in  the  form  of  a  sort  of  Billy-goat  grin. 

"  He !  he  !  he  !  he !  Tayther  regrets  emezingly  he 
caint  come,  being  called  to  attend  the  Duchess  of  Dil- 
borough.     He !  he  !  he  !  he !  " 

As  we  have  already  said  that  it  was  in  pure  compli- 
ment to  the  father  that  the  son  was  invited,  and  not  at 
all  for  the  sake  of  his  own  company,  his  presence  was 
a  grievous  aggravation  of  the  disappointment. 

The  next  knock  announced  Miss  Snubbleston.  But 
where  was  her  carriage  ?  Why,  it  had  been  newly  var- 
nished, and  they  might  scratch  her  panels  with  the  ham- 
pers ;  and  then  she  was  afraid  of  her  springs.  So  here 
was  Miss  Snubbleston  without  her  carriage,  for  the  con- 
venience of  which  alone  she  had  been  invited,  considered 
by  the  rest  in  exactly  the  same  light  as  young  Mr. 
Wrench  without  old  Mr.  Wrench,  —  id  est,  a  damper. 
A  new  arrangement  was  the  necessary  consequence  ;  and 
the  baskets,  under  the  superintendence  of  a  servant, 
were  jolted  down  in  a  hackney-coach,  to  be  embarked  at 
Westmmster.     But  Miss  Snubbleston  brousht  with  lier 


114  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

a  substitute,  which  was  by  no  means  a  compensation. 
Cupid,  her  wretched,  little,  barking,  yelping,  Dutch  pug, 
had  eaten  something  that  had  disagreed  with  him,  and 
Ms  fair  mistress  would  not  "  for  worlds  "  have  left  him 
at  home  while  he  was  so  indisposed.  Well,  no  one 
chose  to  be  the  first  to  object  to  the  intruder,  so  Cu- 
pid was  received. 

"  But  where  can  Uncle  John  and  his  friend  be  ?  We 
shall  lose  the  tide,  that 's  certain,"  was  scarcely  uttered 
by  Mr.  Bagshaw,  when  in  came  our  uncle,  together  with 
the  long-expected  Jack  Richards. 

The  usual  introductions  over,  Mr.  Eichards  saluted 
everybody  with  the  self-sufficient  swagger  of  a  vulgar 
lion. 

"  The  day  smiles  auspicious,  sir,"  said  Bagshaw,  who 
thought  it  requisite  he  should  throw  off  something  fine 
to  so  celebrated  a  person. 

"Smile?  —  a  broad  griu,  I  call  it,  sir."  And  here 
was  a  general  laugh. 

"  0,  excellent ! " 

"  Capital ! " 

Uncle  John,  proud  of  his  friend,  whispered  in  Bag- 
shaw's  ear,  "  You  see.  Jack  's  beginning."  And  now 
hats  and  gloves  were  in  motion. 

"  You  have  got  your  flute,  Frederick  P  " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  was  the  reply, 

"  Lau,  ma,"  cried  Miss  Corinna,  "  if  I  have  n't  come 
without  '  Sweet  Bird,'  and  my  scena  from  '  Medea,'  1 
declare." 

As  these  were  indispensable  to  the  amusements  of  the 
day,  a  servant  was  despatched  for  them.    He  could  n't 


THE    PICNIC   PARTY.  115 

be  gone  longer  than  half  an  hour.  Half  an  hour ! 
thought  Bagshaw;  'tis  eleven  now;  aucl  the  tide. — 
But  the  servant  was  abseut  a  few  minutes  beyoud  the 
half-hour,  and  poor  Bagshaw  suffered  severely  from  that 
gnawing  impatience,  amounting  almost  to  pain,  whicli 
every  mother's  son  of  us  has  experienced  upon  occasions 
of  greater  —  or  less  importance  than  this.  They  were 
again  at  the  very  point  of  starting,  wlien  a  message  was 
brought  to  Mrs.  Snodgrass  that  little  Master  Charles 
had  cut  his  thumb  dreadfully  !  What  was  to  be  doue  ? 
Mrs.  Snodgrass  vowed  she  should  n't  be  easy  in  her  mhid 
the  whole  day  unless  she  knew  the  extent  of  the  mischief; 
and  as  tliey  onlif  Uved  in  Enston  Square,  and  she  could 
be  there  and  back  again  in  twenty  minutes,  she  would 
herself  go  see  what  really  was  the  matter, —  and  away 
she  went.  Twenty  minutes !  Daring  all  this  time, 
Bagshaw  —  but  who  would  attempt  to  describe  anguish 
indescribable  ?  At  length  he  was  relieved  by  the  return 
of  Mrs.  Suodgi-ass ;  but,  to  the  horror  and  consternation 
of  himself  and  of  all  present,  she  introduced  the  afore- 
said Master  Charles,  —  an  ugly,  ill-tempered,  blubbering 
little  brat  of  seven  years  old,  with  a  bloated  red  face, 
scrubby  white  hair,  and  red  eyes  ;  and  with  the  interest- 
ing appendage  of  a  thick  slice  of  bread  and  butter  in  his 
hand. 

"  I  'm  sure  you  '11  pardon  this  liberty,"  said  the  affec- 
tionate mamma ;  "  but  poor  Charley  has  cut  himself  very 
much,  and  lie  would  not  be  pacified  till  I  consented  to 
take  him  with  us.  He  has  promissd  to  be  very  good. 
Tiiere,  don't  cry  any  more,  darling ! "  and,  accordingly, 
the  urchin  roared  with  tenfold  vigor.    There  were  no 


116  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

particular  manifestations  of  joy  at  tliis  arrival;  and  it  is 
just  possible,  allliough  nothing  was  uttered  to  that  efi'ect, 
that  there  did  exist  a  general  and  cordial  wish  that 
young  Master  Snodgrass  were  sprawling  at  the  bottom 
of  the  deepest  well  in  England.  Uucle  John,  indeed, 
did  utter  something  about  the  pug  and  the  child  —  two 
such  nuisances  —  people  bringing  their  brats  into  grown- 
up company. 

At  length  the  procession  set  out :  the  Bagshaws, 
Uncle  John,  and  Jack  Richards  bringing  up  the  rear  hi 
a  hackney-coach.  On  reacliing  the  corner  of  the  street, 
Mrs.  Bagshaw  called  out  to  the  driver  to  stop. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?  "  said  Bagshaw. 

"  Your  eye-lotion,  love." 

"  Well,  never  mind  that,  sweet." 

"Claudius,  I  shall  be  miserable  if  you  go  without 
it.  Dr.  Nooth  desired  you  would  use  it  every  two 
hours.  I  must  insist,  —  now,  for  my  sake,  love,  —  such 
an  eye  as  he  has  got,  Mr.  Richards  !  " 

So  away  went  Bagshaw  to  the  Lake  of  Lausanne 
Lodge  for  the  lotion,  which,  as  it  always  liappens  when 
folks  are  in  a  hurry,  it  took  hiui  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
find. 

They  were  now  fairly  on  the  road. 

"  What  a  smell  of  garlic  !  "  exclaimed  Uncle  John  ; 
"  it  is  intolerable  !  " 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Mr.  Richards,  "  do  you  perceive 
it?  'T  is  a  fine  Italian  sausage  I  bought  at  Morel's,  as 
my  iontribution.  We  shall  Ihid  it  an  excellent  relish  in 
the  country."  And  he  exhibited  liis  purchase,  enveloped 
in  a  brown  paper. 


THE    PICNIC    PARTY.  117 

"  Plia  !  shocking !  —  't  is  a  perfect  nuisance !  Put  it 
into  your  pocket  again,  or  throw  it  out  at  the  window." 
But  Mr.  Richards  preferred  obeying  the  first  command. 

Apropos  of  contributions — "Uucle,  have  you  brought 
your  spoons?" 

"Here  they  are,"  repUed  Uncle,  at  the  same  time 
drawing  from  his  pocket  a  parcel  in  size  and  form  very 
closely  resembling  Mr.  Richards's  offensive  contribu- 
tion. 

On  arriving  at  Westminster  Bridge,  they  found  the 
rest  of  the  party  already  seated  in  the  barge,  and  the 
first  sound  that  saluted  their  ears  was  an  intimation  that, 
owing  to  their  being  two  hours  behind  time  (it  was  now 
past  twelve),  they  should  hardly  save  the  tide. 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  so,"  said  Bagshaw,  with  more  of 
discontent  than  he  had  thought  to  experience,  consider- 
ing the  pains  he  had  taken  that  everything  should  be 
well  ordered. 

As  Uucle  John  was  stepping  into  the  boat,  Richards, 
with  great  dexterity,  exchanged  parcels  with  him,  put- 
ting the  Italian  sausage  into  Uncle  John's  pocket  and 
the  spoons  into  his  own;  enhancing  the  wit  of  the 
manoeuvre  by  whispering  to  the  Bagshaws,  who,  with 
infinite  delight,  had  observed  it. 

"Hang  me,"  said  Richards,  "but  he  shall  have 
enough  of  the  garlic  !  " 

The  old  gentleman  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  oper- 
ation, as  Richards  adroitly  diverted  his  attention  from  it 
by  giving  him  one  of  his  facetious  pokes  in  the  ribs, 
which  nearly  bent  him  double,  and  drew  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter from  every  one  else. 


118  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Just  as  they  were  pushing  off,  their  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  loud  howluig.  It  proceeded  from  a  large 
Newfoundland  dog  which  was  standing  at  the  water's 
edge. 

"  Confound  it !  "  cried  Richards,  "  that 's  my  Carlo  ! 
He  has  followed  me,  unperceived,  all  the  way  from  home 
—  I  would  not  lose  him  for  fifty  pounds.  I  must  take 
him  back  —  pray  put  me  ashore.  This  is  very  provok- 
ing —  though  he  is  a  very  quiet  dog  !  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  this  hint.  Already  were 
there  two  nuisances  on  board,  —  Master  Charles  and  the 
Dutch  pug :  but  as  they  were  to  choose  between  Jack 
Richards  with  his  dog,  or  no  Jack  Richards  (or  in  other 
words,  no  hfe  and  soul  of  the  party),  it  was  presently 
decided  that  Carlo  should  be  invited  to  a  seat  on  the 
hampers,  which  were  stowed  at  the  head  of  the  boat, — 
Uncle  John  having  first  extracted  from  Mr.  Richards  an 
assurance  that  their  new  guest  would  lie  there  as  still  as 
a  mouse.  This  complaisance  was  amply  rewarded  by 
a  speedy  display  of  Mr.  Richards's  powers  of  entertain- 
ment. As  soon  as  they  reached  the  middle  of  the  river 
Jack  Richards  suddenly  jumped  up,  for  the  purpose  of 
frightening  Miss  Snubbleston ;  a  jest  at  which  everybody 
eke  would  have  laughed,  had  not  their  own  lives  been 
endangered  by  it.  Even  his  great  admirer  suggested  to 
him  that  once  of  that  was  enough.  His  next  joke  was  one 
of  a  more  intellectual  character.  Though  he  had  never 
till  this  day  seeu  Sir  Thomas,  he  had  accidentally  heard 
something  about  his-  former  trade. 

"  Wliat  is  the  difference  between  Lord  Eldon  and  Sir 
Thomas  Grouts  ?  "     Nobody  could  tell. 


THE    PICNIC    PARTY.  119 

"  One  is  an  ex-chancellor,  —  the  other  is  an  ex-chan- 
dler."    Everybody  lauglied,  except  the  Grouts  family. 

This  was  succeeded  by  another  thrust  in  Uucle  John's 
side ;  after  which  came  a  pun,  which  we  shall  not  re- 
cord, as  the  effect  of  it  was  to  force  the  ladies  to  cough 
and  look  into  the  water,  the  gentlemen  to  look  at  each 
other,  and  Mrs.  Snodgrass  to  whisper  to  Mrs.  Bag- 
shaw,  — 

"  Who  is  this  Mr.  Richards  ?  " 

Indeed,  there  would  have  been  no  end  to  his  pleas- 
antries had  they  not  been  interrupted  by  a  request  that 
Miss  Corinna  would  open  the  concert,  as  tliey  were  fast 
approaching  Vauxhall  Bridge.  Mr.  Bagshaw  (looking 
at  the  programme,  which  he  had  drawn  out  on  paper 
ruled  with  red  and  blue  lines)  objected  to  this,  as  it 
would  disturb  tlie  previous  arrangement,  according  to 
which  the  concert  was  not  to  commence  till  they  were 
through  the  bridge.  This  objection  was  overruled,  and 
the  fair  Corinna  unrolled  the  music,  for  which  the  ser- 
vant had  been  despatched  with  so  much  haste.  Miss 
Corinna  screamed.    What  was  the  matter  ? 

"They  had  not  sent  the  grand  scena  from  Medea, 
after  all,  but  a  wrong  piece !  "  And  the  pains  she  had 
taken  to  be  perfect  in  it ! 

"  Could  not  Miss  Corinna  sing  it  from  memory  ?  " 

"  Impossible !  " 

"  How  careless  of  you,  Corinna !  then  sing  what  they 
have  sent." 

"  Why,  ma,"  said  Corinna,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
holding  up  the  unfortunate  sheets,  —  "  why,  bless  me, 
ma,  I  can't  sing  the  overture  to  Der  Freyschutz ! " 


120  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

The  difficulty  of  such  a  performance  being  readily 
admitted,  Mr.  Frederick  Snodgrass  declared  himself  but 
too  happy  to  comply  with  the  calls  for  his  concerto  in 
five  sharps,  which  stood  next  on  the  list;  and  with  the 
air  of  one  well  satisfied  that  an  abundance  of  admiration 
and  applause  would  reward  his  eftbrts,  he  drew  forth  his 
flute,  when,  lo !  one  of  the  joints  was  missing !  This 
accident  was  nearly  fatal  to  the  musical  entertainments 
of  the  day ;  for  not  only  was  the  concerto  thereby 
rendered  impracticable,  but  "  Sweet  Bird  "  with  the  flute- 
accompaniment  obligato,  was  put  hors  de  combat.  Dis- 
appointment havmg,  by  this,  been  carried  to  its  utter- 
most bounds,  the  announcement  that  two  strings  of  the 
guitar  had  gone  was  received  with  an  indifference 
almost  stoical ;  and  every  one  was  grateful  to  Miss 
Euphemia  for  so  willingly  undertaking  (the  whispered 
menaces  of  Lady  Grouts  being  heard  by  nobody  but  the 
young  lady  herself)  to  do  all  that  could  be  done  under 
such  untoward  circumstances.  She  would  endeavor  to 
accompany  herself  through  a  little  ballad ;  but  she 
failed. 

Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw,  with  all  his  literature,  science, 
and  philosophy,  now,  for  the  first  time,  wondered  how 
anything  could  fail,  so  much  trouble  having  been  taken 
to  insure  success.  Drawing  forth  his  repeater,  he 
ahem'd,  and  just  muttered, — 

"  Unaccountable !  Hem !  upon  my  word !  One 
o'clock,  and  no  pleasure  yet !  " 

"  One  o'clock  !  "  echoed  his  spouse  ;  "  then  't  is  time 
for  your  eye,  dear !  "  And  Bagshaw  was  compelled  not 
only  to  suffer  his  damaged  optics  to  be  dabbled  by  his 


THE   PICNIC    PAETY.  121 

tormentingly  affectionate  wife,  but  to  submit  again  to  be 
hoodwinked,  iu  spite  of  his  entreaties  to  the  contrary,  and 
his  pathetic  assurances  that  he  had  not  yet  seen  a  bit  of 
the  prospect ;  a  tiling  he  had  set  his  heart  upon. 

Now  occurred  a  dead  silence  of  some  minutes.  A 
steamboat  rushed  by.  Bagshaw  seized  this  opportunity 
to  make  a  display  of  his  scientific  acquirements ;  and 
this  he  did  with  the  greater  avidity,  as  he  had  long 
wished  to  astonish  Vice-President  Snodgrass.  Besides, 
in  the  event  of  his  offering  to  deliver  a  course  of  lec- 
tures at  the  institution,  tlie  vice-president  might  bear 
evidence  to  his  capabilities  for  the  purpose,  —  his  ac- 
quaintance not  only  with  the  facts,  but  with  the  terms 
of  science.  Whether  those  terms  were  always  correctly 
applied,  we  confess  ourselves  not  sufficiently  learned  to 
pronounce. 

"  How  wondrous  is  the  science  of  mechanism !  how 
variegated  its  progany,  how  simple,  yet  how  compound ! 
I  am  propelled  to  the  consideration  of  this  subject  by 
having  optically  perceived  that  ingenious  nautical  instru- 
ment, which  has  just  now  flown  along  like  a  mammoth, 
that  monster  of  the  deep !  You  ask  me  how  are  steam- 
boats propagated  ?  in  other  words,  how  is  such  an  infi- 
nite and  immovable  body  inveigled  along  its  course? 
I  will  explain  it  to  you.  It  is  by  the  power  of  friction : 
that  is  to  say,  the  two  wheels,  or  paddles,  turning  dia- 
metrically, or  at  the  same  moment,  on  the  axioms,  and 
repressing  by  the  rotundity  of  their  motion  the  action 
of  the  menstruum  iu  which  the  machine  floats,  —  water 
beuig,  in  a  philosophical  sense,  a  powerful  non-con- 
ductor, —  it  is  clear,  that  in  proportion  as  is  the  revulsiou 

VOL.  IX.  6 


122  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

SO  is  the  progression  ;  and  as  is  the  centrifugal  force,  so 
is  the  —  " 

"  Pooh !  "  cried  Uncle  John,  impatiently ;  "  let  us  have 
some  music." 

"  I  have  an  apprehension,  Bagshaw,"  said  the  vice- 
president,  —  "  that  I  should  not  presume  to  dispute  with 
you,  —  that  you  are  wrong  in  your  theory  of  the  centrifu- 
gal force  of  the  axioms.  However,  we  will  discuss  tliat 
point  at  the  grand-junction.  But  come,  Frederick,  the 
•DettmgenTeDeum.'" 

Frederick  and  the  young  ladies  having,  by  many  re- 
hearsals, perfected  themselves  in  the  performance  of  this 
piece,  instantly  complied.  Scarcely  had  they  reached  the 
fourth  bar,  when  Jack  Richards,  who  had  not  for  a  long 
time  perpetrated  a  joke,  produced  a  harsh,  brassy-toned, 
German  eolina,  and  "  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  shrill," 
that  the  Dutch  pug  began  to  bark,  Carlo  to  howl,  and 
the  other  nuisance,  Master  Charles,  to  cry.  The  German 
eolina  was  of  itself  bad  enough,  but  these  congregated 
noises  were  intolerable.  Uncle  John  aimed  a  desperate 
blow  with  a  large  apple,  wliich  he  was  just  about  to  bite, 
at  the  head  of  Carlo,  who,  in  order  to  give  his  lungs  fair 
play,  was  standing  on  all  fours  on  the  hampers.  The 
apple  missed  the  dog,  and  went  some  distance  beyond 
him  into  the  water.  Mr.  Carlo,  attributing  to  Uncle 
John  a  kinder  feeling  than  that  which  actually  prompted 
the  proceeding,  looked  upon  it  as  a  good-natured  expedi- 
ent to  afford  him  an  opportunity  of  adding  his  mite  to  the 
amusements  of  the  day,  by  displaying  a  specimen  of  his 
training.  Without  waiting  for  a  second  hit,  he  plunged 
into  the  river,  seized  the  apple,  and,  paddlmg  up  the  side 


THE    PICNIC    PAETY.  123 

of  the  boat  with  the  prize  triumphantly  exhibited  in  his 
jaws,  to  the  consternation  of  the  whole  party,  he  scram- 
bled in  between  Uncle  John  and  his  master,  dropped  the 
apple  upon  the  floor,  distributed  a  copious  supply  of 
Thames  water  amongst  the  aflrighted  beholders,  squeezed 
liis  way  through  them  as  best  he  could,  and,  with  an  air  of 
infinite  self-satisfaction,  resumed  his  place  on  the  hampers. 

Had  Mr.  Jack  Richards,  the  owner  of  the  dog,  been  at 
the  bottom  of  the  Thames  a  week  before  this  delightful 
24th,  not  one  of  the  party,  Mr.  Richards  himself  ex- 
cepted, would  have  felt  in  the  slightest  degree  concerned ; 
but  since,  with  a  common  regard  to  politeness,  they 
could  not  explicitly  tell  him  so,  they  contented  them- 
selves with  bestowing  upon  Mr.  Carlo  every  term  of  op- 
probrium, every  form  of  execration,  which  good  manners 
will  allow,  —  leaving  it  to  the  sagacity  of  "  the  life  and 
soul  of  the  company  "  to  apply  them  to  himself,  if  so  it 
might  be  agreeable  to  him.  Poor  fellow !  he  felt  the 
awkwardness  of  his  situation,  and  figuratively,  as  well  as 
literally  speaking,  this  exploit  of  his  dog  threw  a  damp 
upon  him,  as  it  had  done  upon  every  one  else. 

For  some  time  the  picnickers  pursued  their  way  in  sol- 
emn silence.  At  length  Bagshaw,  perceiving  that  there 
would  be  very  little  pleasure  if  matters  were  allowed  to 
go  on  in  this  way,  exclaimed,  — 

"  An  inteUigent  observer,  not  imbued  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  our  iuteutioiis,  would  indicate  us  to  be  a  combi- 
nation of  perturbed  spirits,  rowed  by  Charon  across  the 
river  Tiber." 

In  cases  of  this  kind,  the  essential  is  to  break  the  ioe. 
Conversation  was  now  resumed. 


124  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  All !  ha !  "  said  the  vice-president,  "  Sion-house." 

"  The  residuum  of  the  Northuniberlauds,"  said  Clau- 
dius, "  one  of  the  most  genealogical  and  antique  families 
in  England." 

And  here,  having  put  forth  so  much  classical  and  his- 
torical lore,  almost  in  a  breath,  he  marked  his  own  satis- 
faction by  a  short,  single  cough.  The  vice-president  mid 
nothing,  but  he  thought  to  himself,  "There  is  much 
more  in  this  Bagshaw  than  I  suspected." 

Jack  Richards  was  up  again. 

"  Come,  what 's  done  can't  be  helped ;  but,  upon  my 
soul !  I  am  sorry  at  bemg  the  innocent  cause  of  throwing 
cold  water  on  the  party." 

"Cold  water,  mdeed!  look  at  me,  sir,"  said  Miss 
Snubbleston,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  exhibiting  her 
ei-devant  shouldcr-of-muttou  sleeves,  which,  but  half  an 
hour  before  as  stift"  and  stately  as  starch  could  make 
them,  were  now  hanging  loose  and  flabby  about  her 
skinny  arms. 

"Too  bad.  Jack,"  said  Uncle  John,  "to  bring  that 
cursed  Carlo  of  yours  !  " 

Carlo,  perceiving  that  he  was  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion, was  instantly  on  his  legs,  his  eye  steadily  fixed  upon 
Uncle  John,  evidently  expecting  a  signal  for  a  second 
plunge.  The  alarm  was  general,  and  every  tongue  joined 
in  the  scream  of  "  Lie  down,  sir !  lie  down  !  " 

Uncle  John,  who  had  been  more  than  once  offended  by 
the  odor  from  his  friend's  garlic  sausage,  aud  who  had 
on  each  and  every  such  occasion  vented  an  exclamation 
of  disgust,  to  the  great  amusement  of  Mr.  llichards  (who 
chuckled  with  delight  to  think  of  the  exchange  he  had 


THE   PICNIC   PARTY.  125 

secretly  effected)  here,  iu  the  very  middle  of  the  stream, 
resolved  to  rid  liiinself  of  the  annoyance.  Unpcrceivcd 
by  any  one,  he  gently  drew  the  parcel  from  Richards's 
coat-pocket,  and  let  it  drop  into  the  water!  Like 
King  Richard's  pierced  coffin,  once  in,  it  soon  found  the 
way  to  the  bottom.  Uncle  John  could  scarcely  restrain 
his  inclination  to  laugh  aloud ;  however,  he  contrived  to 
assume  an  air  of  indifterence,  and  whistled  part  of  a 
tuue. 

Arrived  at  Twickenham,  the  boatmen  were  ordered  to 
pull  up  to  a  beautiful  meadow,  sloping  down  to  the 
water's  edge.  There  was  no  time  to  lose,  —  they  had  had 
no  pleasure  yet,  —  so  Bagshaw  entreated  that  every  one 
"would  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  and  be  on  the 
qui  rala."  In  an  instant  a  large  heavy  hamper  was 
lauded,  but  as,  in  compliance  with  Bagshaw's  request, 
every  one  did  something  to  help,  a  scene  of  confusion 
was  the  consequence,  and  numerous  pieces  of  crockery 
were  invalided  ere  the  cloth  was  properly  spread,  and  the 
dishes,  plates,  and  glasses  distributed.  But  for  the  feast. 
Mr.  Suodgrass's  basket  was  opened,  and  out  of  it  were 
taken  four  remarkably  fine  chickens,  and  a  tongue  — 
uncooked !  There  was  but  one  mode  of  accounting  for 
this  trifling  omission.  Mr.  Snodgrass's  Betty  was  a 
downright  matter-of-fact  person,  who  obeyed  orders  to 
the  very  letter.  Having  been  told,  the  evening  before,  to 
get  four  fine  chickens  for  roasting,  together  with  a  tongue, 
and  to  pack  them,  next  morning,  in  a  basket,  she  did  so 
literally  and  strictly ;  but,  as  she  had  rccaived  no  distinct 
orders  to  dress  them,  to  have  done  so  slie  would  have 
deemed  au  impertinent  departure  from  her  instructions. 


126  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Well;  since  people  in  a  high  state  of  civilization,  like 
Mr.  Claudius  Bagshaw  and  his  friends,  cannot  eat  raw 
chickens,  they  did  the  only  thing  they  could  under  the 
circumstances,  —  they  grumbled  exceedingly,  and  put 
them  back  again  into  the  basket.  This  was  a  serious 
deduction  in  the  important  point  of  quantity,  and  Uncle 
John  felt  a  slight  touch  of  remorse  at  having  thrown,  as 
he  thought,  his  friend's  Itahan  sausage  into  the  Thames. 
However,  there  was  still  provision  in  the  garrison.  But 
the  run  of  luck  in  events,  as  at  a  game  of  whist,  may  be 
against  you ;  and  when  it  is  so,  be  assured  that  human 
prudence  and  foresight  —  remarkable  as  even  Mrs.  Bag- 
shaw's,  who  bespoke  her  pigeons  seven  weeks  before  she 
wanted  them  —  avail  but  Utile.  When  the  packages 
were  first  stowed  in  the  boat,  the  pigeon-pie  was  inadver- 
tently placed  at  the  bottom,  and  everything  else,  fiuishing 
with  the  large  heavy  hamper  of  crockery,  with  Carlo  on 
that,  upon  it ;  so  that  when  it  was  taken  up  it  appeared 
a  chaotic  mass  of  pie-crust,  broken  china,  pigeons,  brown 
paper,  beefsteak,  eggs,  and  straw ! 

"  Now  this  is  enough  to  provoke  a  saint !  "  said  Bag- 
shaw ;  and  no  one  attempting  to  deny  the  position,  with 
this  salvo  for  his  own  character  of  philosophic  patience, 
he  indulged  himself  in  the  full  expression  of  his  vexation 
and  sorrow.  After  a  minute  examination,  he  declared 
the  pie  to  be  "  a  complete  squash,"  and  that  nobody 
could  venture  to  eat  it  but  at  tlio  imminent  risk  of  being 
choked.  As  lie  was  about  to  throw  it  over  the  hedge. 
Miss  Snubbleston,  seized  with  an  unusual  fit  of  gen- 
erosity, called  out  to  him,  — 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?     Though  it  is  n't  fit  for  us 


THE    PICNIC    PARTY.  127 

to  eat,  it  will  be  quite  a  treat  to  the  poor  watermen. 
I  dare  say,  poor  souls,  they  dou't  often  get  pigeon- 
pie." 

But  the  good  genius  of  Mr.  Carlo  prevailed ;  and  the 
truth  of  the  adage,  "  't  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody 
good,"  was  confirmed  ui  his  mind  as  he  found  himself 
busily  employed  in  the  ingenious  operation  of  separating 
pigeon  from  porcelain.  It  was,  doubtless,  extremely  ill- 
bred  in  one  dog  not  to  invite  another,  and  Cupid  ex- 
pressed his  sense  of  the  slight  by  a  long-continued  yeU, 
which  drew  down  upon  him,  from  the  equally  disap- 
pointed bipeds  of  the  company,  sundry  wishes,  the  positive 
accomphshment  of  which  would  not  have  tended  much  to 
his  personal  liappiness.  The  next  basket  was  opened. 
Things  were  not  altogether  in  a  desperate  state.  Mr. 
Wrench's  ham  was  in  perfect  order,  and  that,  with  Miss 
Suubblestou's  salad,  and  some  bread,  and  —  could  it  be 
possible !  After  so  much  preparation,  and  Mr.  Bagshaw'a 
committee  of  "  provender  "  to  boot,  that  no  one  should 
have  thought  of  so  obvious  a  requisite  as  bread !  There 
would  not  be  time  to  send  Mr.  Bagshaw  to  Twickenham 
town  to  procure  some,  for  it  was  getting  late,  and  if  they 
lost  the  tide,  they  should  be  on  the  water  till  midnight, 
and  they  did  not  like  the  appearance  of  the  sky,  which 
was  by  no  means  so  blue  as  it  had  hitherto  been.  How- 
ever, the  want  of  bread  did  not  much  signify ;  they  could 
make  a  shift  with  Miss  Suubblestou's  biscuits  and  pound- 
cakes. But  Uncle  John  did  not  come  out  on  an  excur- 
sion of  pleasure  to  make  shift ;  no  more  did  Bagshaw ;  no 
more  did  any  of  the  others.  Tlure  was  nothing  else  to 
be  done ;  so  where  is  Miss  Suubblestou's  basket  ?    And 


128  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

where  is  Master  Charles  ?  gracious  !  Dou't  be  alarmed, 
the  precious  rarity  is  in  no  danger.  He  was  soon  dis- 
covered behind  a  tree,  whither  he  had  dragged  tlie  fi'uit 
and  cakes,  and  was  engaged  with  all  his  might  and  main, 
in  an  endeavor,  with  a  piece  of  stick,  to  force  out  an 
apple.  In  this  attempt,  as  it  was  presently  seen,  the 
interesting  child  had  cracked  a  bottle,  the  contents  of 
which  —  merely  a  preparation  of  oil,  vinegar,  and  mustard 
for  the  salad  —  were  quietly  dribbling  through  the  pound- 
cakes, biscuits,  and  fruit.  Similar  aspirations  to  those 
which  had  lately  been  so  cordially  expressed  for  the 
Dutch  pug  were  now  most  devoutly  formed  in  behaK  of 
Master  Charles. 

"This  comes  of  bringing  their  plaguy  brats  with 
them,"  said  Uncle  and  Bagshaw. 

Whilst  this  scene  was  going  on,  Jack  Richards,  per- 
ceiving that  the  service  of  the  table  was  incomplete, 
bethought  him  of  Uncle  John's  silver-handled  knives  and 
forks  and  spoons ;  he  felt  first  in  one  pocket,  and  then  hi 
the  other,  then  he  ran  down  to  search  the  boat,  then  he 
rummaged  the  baskets. 

"  Jack,  my  boy,"  hallooed  Uncle  John,  "  don't  trouble 
yourself,  you  '11  never  see  that  agam." 

"What,  sir?" 

"  I  could  not  bear  the  smell  of  it  any  longer,  so  I  slyly 
drew  it  out  of  your  pocket,  and  dexterously  let  it  fall  into 
the  deepest  part  of  the  Thames." 

And  here  Uncle  Jolni  chuckled,  and  looked  about  him 
for  applause. 

"Bless  me,  sir!  Don't  say  so  —  why — bless  my 
heart  —  you  dou't  know — before  we  got  into  the  boat. 


THE    PICNIC    PARTY.  129 

I  put  the  sausage  into  your  pocket,  and  your  case  of 
cutlery  into  my  own !  " 

There  was  a  general  burst  of  laughter  against  Uncle 
John.  He  turned  as  pale  as  —  nay,  paler  than  anything 
that  has  ever  yet  been  dragged  into  the  comparison ;  for 
an  instant  he  stood  stock-still,  then  thrust  his  hand  into 
his  pocket,  drew  forth  the  unfortunate  substitute,  and  at 

the  same  time  exclaiming  D tion  !  dashed  it  violently 

to  the  ground.  He  next  buttoned  his  coat  from  the  bot- 
tom to  the  top,  pulled  down  his  cuffs,  whispered  to  Ills 
no  longer  admired  Jack  Richards,  "  You  shall  hear  from 

me,  Mr. ,"  and  saying  aloud  to  Bagshaw,  "  This 

comes  of  your  confounded  party  of  pleasure,  sir,"  away 
he  went,  aud  returned  to  town  outside  a  Twickenham 
coach ;  resolving  by  the  way  to  call  out  that  Mr.  Rich- 
ards, and  to  eject  the  Bagshaws  from  the  snug  corner 
they  held  in  his  last  will  and  testament. 

This  explosion  seemed  to  have  banished  pleasure  for 
that  day.  They  were  all,  more  or  less,  out  of  humor ; 
and  mstead  of  making  the  best  of  things,  as  they  had 
hitherto  done,  they  now  made  the  worst  of  them.  Sir 
Thomas's  hamper  of  his  choice  wine  (which,  by  the  by, 
he  purchased  at  a  cheap  shop  for  the  occasion)  was 
opened ;  and  slices  of  ham  were  cut  with  the  only  knife 
and  fork.  Jack  Richards  tried  to  be  facetious,  but  it 
would  not  do.  He  gave  Bagshaw  a  poke  in  the  ribs, 
which  was  received  with  a  very  formal,  "  Sir,  I  must  beg 
—  "    To  Mr.  Wrench,  junior,  he  said, — 

"  You  have  not  spoken  much  to-day  —  but  you  have 
made  amends  for  your  silence  —  d'  ye  take  ?  —  Your  ham 
is  good,  though  your  tongue  is  not  worth  much !  " 
6»  I 


130  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Instead  of  laughing,  Mr.  Wrench  simpered  sometliing 
about  impertinent  liberties  and  satisfaction.  On  being 
invited  by  Sir  Thomas  to  a  second  glass  of  his  old  East 
India,  he  said  that  one  was  a  dose  —  had  rather  not 
double  the  Cape  ;  and  at  the  first  glass  of  champagne,  he 
inquired  whether  there  had  been  a  plentiful  supply  of 
•gooseberries  that  year.  In  short,  whether  it  were  that 
the  company  knew  not  how  to  appreciate  his  sfyle  of  wit 
and  pleasantry,  or  that  he  was  in  reality  a  very  disagree- 
able person,  the  fact  is  that  — but  hold!  let  us  say 
nothing  ill  of  him ;  he  died  last  week,  at  Folkestone,  of  a 
surfeit  of  goose,  in  the  forty-ninth  year  of  his  age.  For 
the  consolation  of  such  as  were  amused  by  him,  and  re- 
gret his  loss,  be  it  remembered  that  there  are  still  to  be 
found  many  Jack  Richards  in  this  world. 

As  we  have  said,  they  now  resolved  to  make  the  worst 
of  everything ;  the  grass  was  damp,  the  gnats  were  trou- 
blesome, Carlo's  nose  was  in  everybody's  face,  Cupid's 
teeth  at  everybody's  calves,  and  Master  Charles  was  ill 
of  the  many  sour  apples ;  it  was  growing  late,  and  no 
good  could  come  of  sitting  longer  in  the  open  air.  They 
re-embarked.  By  the  time  they  reached  Putney  it 
was  pitch  dark,  and  the  tide  was  setting  against  them. 
They  moved  on  in  mute  impatience,  for  there  was  a 
slight  sprinkling  of  rain.  It  now  fell  in  torrents.  Mas- 
ter Charles  grew  frightened  and  screamed.  Cupid 
yelped,  and  Carlo  howled.  Accompanied  the  rest  of 
the  way  by  these  pleasing  sounds,  at  one  in  the  mornuig 
(two  hours  and  a  half  later  than  tliey  intended)  they 
arrived  at  Westminster  stairs,  dull,  dreary,  drowsy,  dis- 
contented, and  drenched. 


FATHER   TOM   AND   THE   POPE, 

Ab  related  by  Mr.  Michael  Heffeman,  Master  of  the  National 
School  at  Tallymactaggart,  in  the  County  Leitrun,  to 
a  friend,  daring  his  official  visit  to  Dublin  for 
the  purpose  of  studying  political  econ- 
omy, in  the  spring  of  1838. 

BY  SAMUEL  FERGUSON. 


I. 


HOW    FATHER    TOM   WENT    TO    TAKE     POT-LUCK    AT  THE 
VATICAN. 


IIEN  his  Riv'reuce  was  in  Room,  ov  coorse 
the  Pope  axed  him  to  take  pot-look  wid  him. 
More  be  token,  it  was  on  a  Friday ;  but,  for 
all  that,  there  was  plenty  of  mate ;  for  the  Pope  gev 
himself  an  absolution  from  the  fast  on  account  of  tlie 
great  company  that  was  in  it,  —  at  laste  so  I  'm  tould. 
Howaudiver,  there 's  no  fast  on  the  dhrink,  anyhow,  — 
glory  be  to  God !  —  and  so,  as  they  wor  sitting,  afther 
dinner,  taking  their  sup  together,  says  the  Pope,  says 
he,  "  Thomaus,"  for  the  Pope,  you  know,  spakes  tliat 
away,  and  all  as  one  as  ov  uz,  —  "  Thomaus  a  lanna" 
says  he,  "  I  'm  tould  you  welt  them  English  heretics 
out  ov  the  face." 


132  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  You  may  say  that,"  says  his  Riv'rence  to  him  again. 
"Bj  my  soul,"  says  he,  "  if  I  put  your  Holiness  undher 
the  table,  you  won't  be  the  first  Pope  I  floored." 

Well,  his  Holiness  laughed  like  to  split ;  for  you 
know,  Pope  was  the  great  Prodesan  that  Father  Tom 
put  down  upon  Purgathory ;  and  ov  coorse  they  knew 
all  the  ins  aud  outs  of  the  conthravarsy  at  lloom. 
"Faix,  Thomaus,"  says  he,  smiling  across  the  table 
at  him  mighty  agreeable,  —  "  it 's  no  lie  what  they  tell 
me,  that  yourself  is  the  pleasant  man  over  the  dhrop  ov 
good  liquor." 

"  Would  you  like  to  thry  ?  "  says  his  Riv'rence. 

"  Sure,  and  am  n't  I  thrying  all  I  can  ?  "  says  the 
Pope.  "  Sorra  betther  bottle  ov  wine  's  betuxt  this  and 
Salamanca,  nor  there  's  fornenst  you  on  the  table ;  it 's 
raal  Lachrymachrystal,  every  spudh  ov  it." 

"  It 's  mortial  could,"  says  Father  Tom. 

"  Well,  man  alive,"  says  the  Pope,  "  sure,  and  here  's 
the  best  ov  good  claret  in  the  cut  decanther." 

"  Not  raaining  to  make  little  ov  the  claret,  your  Holi- 
ness," says  his  Riv'rence,  "  I  would  prcfir  some  hot 
wathcr  and  sugar,  wid  a  glass  ov  spirits  through  it,  if 
convanient." 

"  Hand  me  over  the  bottle  of  brandy,"  says  the  Pope 
to  his  head  butler,  "  aud  fetch  up  the  matcri'ls,"  says  he. 

"  Ah,  then,  your  Holiness,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  mighty 
eager,  "  maybe  you  'd  have  a  dhrop  ov  the  native  in  your 
cellar?  Sure,  it's  all  one  throuble,"  says  he,  "and, 
troth,  I  dunna  how  it  is,  but  brandy  always  plays  the 
puck  wid  my  inthrails." 

"  'Pon  my  conscience,  then,"  says  the  Pope,   "  it 's 


FATHER   TOM   AND    THE    POPE.  L'i^i 

very  sorry  I  am,  Misther  Maguire,"  says  he,  "  that  it 
is  n't  in  my  power  to  plase  you  ;  for  I  'ni  sure  and  cer- 
taint  that  there  's  not  as  much  whiskey  in  Room  this 
blessed  minit  as  'ud  blind  the  eye  ov  a  midge." 

"  Well,  in  troth,  your  Holiness,"  says  Father  Tom, 
"  I  knewn  there  was  no  use  in  axing ;  only,"  says  he, 
"  I  did  n't  know  how  else  to  exqueeze  the  liberty  I 
tuck,"  says  he,  "  of  bringing  a  small  taste,"  says  he, 
"  of  the  real  stuff,"  says  he,  hauling  out  an  imperi'l 
quart  bottle  out  ov  his  coat-pocket ;  "  that  never  seen 
the  face  ov  a  guager,"  says  he,  setting  it  down  on  the 
table  fornenst  the  Pope ;  "  and  if  you  '11  jist  thry  the 
full  ov  a  thimble  ov  it,  and  it  does  n't  rise  the  cockles 
ov  your  Holiness's  heart,  why  then,  my  name,"  says  he, 
"  is  n't  Tom  Maguire  !  "  and  with  that  he  out's  wid  the 
cork. 

Well,  the  Pope  at  first  was  going  to  get  vexed  at 
Father  Tom  for  fetching  dhrink  thataway  in  his  pocket, 
as  if  there  was  n't  lashins  in  the  house :  so  says  he, 
"  Misther  Maguire,"  says  he,  "  1  'd  have  you  to  com- 
prehind  the  differ  betuxt  an  inwitation  to  dinner  from 
the  succissor  of  Saint  Pether,  and  from  a  common 
mayur  or  a  Prodesan  squirean  that  maybe  hasn't 
liquor  enough  in  his  cupboard  to  wet  more  nor  his 
own  heretical  whistle.  That  may  be  the  way  wid  them 
that  you  wisit  in  Leithrim,"  says  he,  "  and  in  Roscom- 
mon ;  and  1  'd  let  you  know  the  differ  in  the  prisint 
case,"  says  he,  "  only  that  you  're  a  champion  ov  the 
Church  and  entitled  to  laniency.  So,"  says  he,  "  as  the 
liquor 's  come,  let  it  stay.  And,  in  troth,  I  'm  curi's 
myself,"  says  he,  getting  mighty  soft  when   he  found 


134  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

the  delightful  smell  ov  the  putteen,  "  in  inwistigating 
the  composition  ov  distilled  liquors ;  it 's  a  bmnch  ov 
natural  philosophy,"  says  he,  taking  up  the  bottle  and 
putting  it  to  his  blessed  nose. 

Ah !  my  dear,  the  very  first  snuff  he  got  ov  it,  he 
cried  out,  the  dear  man,  "  Blessed  Vargin,  but  it  has  the 
divine  smell ! "  and  crossed  himself  and  the  bottle  half 
a  dozen  times  running. 

"  Well,  sure  enough,  it 's  the  blessed  liquor  now," 
says  his  Riv'rence,  "  and  so  there  can  be  no  harm  any 
way  in  mixing  a  dandy  of  punch ;  and,"  says  he,  stirring 
up  the  materi'ls  wid  his  goolden  meeddlar,  —  for  every- 
thing at  the  Pope's  table,  to  the  very  shcrew  for  draw- 
ing the  corks,  was  ov  vergin  goold,  —  "  if  I  might  make 
boold,"  says  he,  "to  spake  on  so  deep  a  subjic  afore 
your  Holiness,  I  think  it  'ud  considherably  whacilitate 
the  inwestigation  ov  its  chemisthry  and  phwarmaceutics, 
if  you  'd  jist  thry  the  laste  sup  in  life  ov  it  inwardly." 

"Well,  then,  suppose  I  do  make  the  same  expiri- 
ment,"  says  the  Pope,  in  a  much  more  condescinding 
way  nor  you  'd  have  expected,  —  and  wid  that  he  mixes 
himself  a  real  stiff  facer. 

"  Now,  your  Holiness,"  says  Father  Tom,  "  this  beiu' 
the  first  time  you  ever  dispinscd  them  chymicals,"  says 
he,  "  I  '11  jist  make  bould  to  lay  doun  one  rule  ov  or- 
thography," says  he,  "  for  conwhounding  them,  secun- 
dum mortem." 

"  What 's  that  ? "  says  the  Pope. 

"  Put  in  the  sperits  first,"  says  his  Riv'rence  ;  "  and 
then  put  in  the  sugar ;  and  remember,  every  dhrop  ov 
wather  you  put  in  after  that,  spoils  the  punch." 


FATHER   TOM    AND   THE    POPE.  135 

"  Glory  be  to  God ! "  says  the  Pope,  not  minding  a 
word  Father  Tom  was  saying.  "  Glory  be  to  God !  " 
says  he,  smacking  his  lips.  "  I  never  knewn  what  dliriuk 
was  afore,"  says  he.  "  It  bates  the  Lachymalchrystal 
out  ov  the  face  !  "  says  he,  —  "  it 's  Necthar  itself,  it  is, 
so  it  is ! "  says  he,  wiping  his  epistolical  mouth  wid  the 
cuff  ov  his  coat. 

"  Ton  my  secret  honor,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  I  'm 
raally  glad  to  see  your  Holiness  set  so  much  to  your 
satiswhaction ;  especially,"  says  he,  "as,  for  fear  ov 
accidents,  I  tuck  the  liberty  of  fetching  the  fellow  ov 
that  small  vesshel,"  says  he,  "  in  my  other  coat-pocket. 
So  devil  a  fear  of  our  running  dhry  till  the  but-end  of 
the  evening,  anyhow,"  says  he. 

"Dhraw  your  stool  into  the  lire,  Misther  Maguire," 
says  the  Pope,  "for  faix,"  says  he,  "I'm  bent  on  aui- 
lizing  the  metaphwysics  ov  this  phinomenon.  Come, 
man  alive,  clear  off,"  says  he,  "you're  not  dhriuking 
at  all." 

"Is  it  dhrink  ? "  says  his  Riv'rence;  "by  Gorra, 
your  Holiness,"  says  he,  "  I  'd  dhrink  wid  you  till  the 
cows  'ud  be  coming  home  in  the  morning." 

So  wid  that  they  tackled  to,  to  the  second  fugil 
apiece,  and  fell  into  a  lamed  discourse. 

But  it 's  time  for  me  now  to  be  off  to  the  lecthir  at 
the  Boord.  O,  my  sorra  light  upon  you,  Docther 
Whately,  wid  your  plitical  econimy  and  your  hydheras- 
tatics  !  What  the  dicul  use  has  a  poor  hedge-masther 
like  me  wid  sich  deep  laming  as  is  only  fit  for  the  likes 
ov  them  two  I  left  over  their  second  tumbler  ?  How- 
andiver,  wishing  I  was  like  them,  in  regard  ov  the  sup  ov 


136  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

dbrink,  anyhow,  I  must  brake  off  my  norration  for  the 
prisint ;  but  when  I  see  you  again,  I  '11  tell  you  how 
Father  Tom  made  a  hare  ov  the  Pope  that  evening,  both 
in  theology  and  the  cube  root. 


II. 


HOW  FATHER    TOM   SACKED   HIS   HOLINESS   IN   THEOLOGY 
AND   LOGIC. 

Well,  the  lecther's  over,  and  I  'm  kilt  out  and  out. 
My  bitther  curse  be  upon  the  man  that  invinted  the 
same  Boord !  I  thought  onc't  I  'd  fadorned  the  say  ov 
throuble ;  and  that  was  when  I  got  through  fractions  at 
ould  Mat  Kavanagh's  school,  in  Firdramore,  —  God  be 
good  to  poor  Mat's  sowl,  though  he  did  deny  the  cause 
the  day  he  suffered  !  but  its  fluxions  itself  we  're  set  to 
bottom  now,  sink  or  shwim !  May  I  never  die  if  my 
head  is  n't  as  throughother,  as  anything  wid  their  ordi- 
nals and  cardinals,  —  and,  begad,  it's  all  notlang  to  the 
econimy  lecthir  that  I  have  to  go  to  at  two  o'clock. 
Howandiver,  I  must  n't  forget  that  we  left  his  Riv'rence 
and  his  Holiness  sitting  fornenst  one  another  in  the  par- 
lor ov  the  Vatican,  jist  afther  mixing  their  second  tumbler. 

When  they  had  got  well  down  into  the  same,  they  fell, 
as  I  was  telling  you,  into  learned  discourse.  For  you  see, 
the  Pope  was  curious  to  find  out  whether  Father  Tom 
was  the  great  theologinall  that  people  said ;  and  says 
he  "  Mister  Maguire,"  says  he,  "  What  answer  do  you 
make  to  the  heretics  when  they  quote  them  passidges 
agin  thransubstantiation  out  ov  tiie  Fathers  ?  "  says  he. 

"Why,"  says  his  Riv'rencc,  "as  there  is  no  sich  pus- 


FATHER  TOM   AND   THE    POPE.  137 

sidges  I  make  myself  mighty  asy  about  them ;  but  if  you 
want  to  know  how  I  dispose  ov  them,"  says  he,  "just 
repate  one  ov  them,  and  I  '11  show  you  how  to  cata- 
pomphericate  it  in  two  shakes." 

"  Why  then,"  says  the  Pope,  "  myself  disremimbers 
the  particlar  passidges  they  allidge  out  ov  them  ould 
felleys,"  says  he,  "though  sure  enough  they're  more 
numerous  nor  edifying, — so  we'll  jist  suppose  that  a 
heretic  was  to  fiud  sich  a  saying  as  this  in  Austin, 
'Every  sensible  man  knows  that  thransubstantiation  is 
a  lie,'  —  or  this  out  of  TertuUian  or  Plutarch,  '  the 
bishop  ov  Rome  is  a  common  imposther,'  —  now  tell 
me,  could  you  answer  him  ?  " 

"As  easy  as  kiss,"  says  his  Riv'rence.  "  In  the  first, 
we're  to  understand  tliat  the  exprission,  'Every  sinsible 
man,'  signifies  simply,  '  every  man  that  judges  by  his 
nath'ral  suises ' ;  and  we  all  know  that  nobody  foUying 
them  seven  deludliers  could  ever  find  out  the  mysthery 
that 's  in  it,  if  somebody  did  n't  come  in  to  his  assistance 
wid  an  eighth  sinse,  which  is  the  only  sinse  to  be  de- 
pended on,  being  the  sinse  ov  the  Church.  So  that, 
regarding  the  first  quotation  which  your  Holiness  has 
supposed,  it  makes  clane  for  us,  and  tee-totally  agin  the 
heretics." 

"  That 's  the  explanation  sure  enough,"  says  his  Holi- 
ness ;  "  and  now  what  div  you  say  to  my  being  a  com- 
mon imposther  ?  " 

"  Faix,  I  think,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  wid  all  submis- 
sion to  the  better  judgment  ov  the  learned  father  that 
your  Holiness  has  quoted,  he  'd  have  been  a  thrifle 
nearer  the  thruth,  if  he  had  said  that  the  bishop  ov 


138  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

'Rome  is  the  grand  imposther  and  top-saM'yer  in  that 
line  over  us  all." 

"  What  do  you  mane  ?  "  says  the  Pope,  getting  quite 
red  in  the  face. 

"  What  would  I  mane,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  as  com- 
posed as  a  docther  ov  physic,  "  but  that  your  Holiness 
is  at  the  head  ov  all  them,  —  troth  I  had  a'most  forgot 
I  wasn't  a  bishop  myself,"  says  he,  the  deludher  was 
going  to  say,  as  the  head  of  all  uz,  "that  has  the  gift 
ov  laving  on  hands.  Tor  sure,"  says  he,  "imposther  and 
imponlhir  is  all  one,  so  you're  only  to  undherstand  ma- 
nttum,  and  the  job  is  done.  Auvuich  !  "  says  he,  "if  any 
heretic  'ud  go  for  to  cast  up  sich  a  passidge  as  that  agin 
me,  I  'd_  soon  give  him  a  p'lite  art  ov  cutting  a  stick  to 
welt  his  own  back  wid." 

"  'Pon  my  apostolical  word,"  says  the  Pope,  "you  've 
cleared  up  them  two  pints  in  a  most  satiswhactery  man- 
ner." 

"  You  see,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  —  by  this  time  they  wor 
mixing  their  third  tumbler,  — "  the  writings  of  them 
Fathers  is  to  be  thrated  wid  great  veneration ;  and  it 
'ud  be  the  height  ov  presumption  in  any  one  to  sit  down 
to  interpret  them  widout  providing  himself  wid  a  genteel 
assortment  ov  the  best  figures  of  rhetoric,  sich  as  met- 
tonymy,  hyperbol,  cattychraysis,  prolipsis,  mettylipsis, 
superbaton,  pollysyndreton,  hustheronprotheron,  proso- 
dypeia  and  the  like,  in  ordher  that  he  may  never  be  at 
a  loss  for  shuitable  siiitimonts  when  he  comes  to  their 
liigh-flown  passidges.  For  unless  we  thrate  them  Falliers 
liberally  to  a  handsome  allowance  ov  thropes  and  figures 
they  'd  set  uj)  heresy  at  onc't,  so  they  would." 


FATHER   TOM    AND   THE    POPE.  139 

"  It 's  thru  for  you,"  says  the  Pope ;  "  the  figures  ov 
spache  is  the  pillars  ov  the  Church." 

"  Bedad,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  I  dunna  what  we  'd 
do  widout  them  at  all." 

"  Wliich  one  do  you  prefir?"  says  the  Pope;  "that 
is,"  says  he,  "  which  figure  of  spache  do  you  find  most 
usefullest  when  you  're  hard  set  ?  " 

"  Metaphour  's  very  good,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  and 
so  's  mettonymy,  —  and  I  've  known  prosodypeia  stand 
to  me  at  a  pinch  mighty  well,  —  but  for  a  constancy,  su- 
perbaton's  the  figure  for  my  money.  Dovil  be  in  me," 
says  he,  "  but  I  'd  prove  black  white  as  fast  as  a  horse 
'ud  throt  wid  only  a  good  stick  ov  superbaton." 

"  Faix,"  says  the  Pope,  wid  a  sly  look,  "  you  'd  need 
to  have  it  backed,  I  judge,  wid  a  small  piece  *of  assur- 
ance." 

"  Well  now,  jist  for  that  word,"  says  his  Riv'rence, 
"  I  '11  prove  it  widout  aither  one  or  other.  Black,"  says 
he,  "  is  one  thing  and  white  is  another  thing.  You  don't 
conthravene  that?  But  everything  is  aither  one  thing 
or  another  thing ;  I  defy  the  Apostle  Paul  to  get  over 
that  dilemma.  Well !  If  anything  be  one  thing,  well 
and  good ;  but  if  it  be  another  thing,  then  it 's  plain  it 
is  n't  both  things,  and  so  can't  be  two  tilings,  —  nobody 
can  deny  that.  But  what  can't  be  two  things  must  be 
one  thing, — Ergo,  whether  it's  one  thing  or  another 
thing  it 's  all  one.  But  black  is  one  thing  and  white  is 
another  thing,  —  t^rgo,  black  and  wliite  is  all  one.  Quod 
erat  demon^thrandum." 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  says  the  Pope,  "  I  can't  althegither  give 
in  to  your  sscoud  miner  —  no  —  your  second  major." 


140  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

says  lie,  and  he  stopped.  "  Faix,  then,"  says  he,  get- 
ting confused,  "  I  don't  rightly  remimber  where  it  was 
exactly  that  I  thought  I  seen  the  flaw  in  your  prem- 
ises. Howsomdiver,"  says  he,  "  I  don't  deny  that  it 's  a 
good  conclusion,  and  one  that  'ud  be  ov  materil  service 
to  the  Church  if  it  was  dhrawn  wid  a  little  more  distinc- 
tiveness." 

"  I  '11  make  it  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  your  Holiness's 
face,  by  superbaton,"  says  his  Riv'rence.  "  My  adver- 
sary says,  black  is  not  another  color,  that  is  white  ? 
Now  that 's  jist  a  parallel  passidge  wid  the  one  out  ov 
Tartulion  that  me  and  Hayes  smashed  the  heretics  on  in 
Clarendon  Sthreet.  'This  is  my  body,  that  is,  the  fig- 
ure ov  my  body.'  That 's  a  superbaton,  and  we  showed 
that  it  ought  n't  to  be  read  that  way  at  all  but  this  way, 
'  This  figure  of  my  body  is  my  body.'  Jist  so  wid  my 
adversary's  proposition,  it  mustn't  be  undherstood  the 
way  it  reads,  by  uo  manner  of  manes;  but  it's  to  be 
taken  this  way,  — '  Black,  that  is,  white,  is  not  another 
color,'  —  green,  if  you  like,  or  orange,  by  dad,  for  any- 
thing I  care,  for  my  case  is  proved.  '  Black/  that  is, 
'white,'  lave  out  the  'that,'  by  sinnalayphy,  and  you 
have  the  orthodox  conclusion,  'Black  is  white,'  or  by 
convarsion,  '  White  is  black.' " 

"  It 's  as  clear  as  mud,"  says  the  Pope. 

"Bedad,"  says  his  Riv'renc6,  "I'm  in  great  humor 
for  disputin'  to-night.  I  wisht  your  Holiness  was  a  her- 
etic jist  for  two  nunutes,"  says  he,  "  till  you  'd  see  the 
flaking  I  'd  give  you !  " 

"Well,  then,  for  the  fun  o'  the  thing  suppose  me 
my  namesake,  if  you  like,"  says  the  Pope,  laughing. 


FATHER  TOM  AND  THE  POPE.      141 

"  though,  by  Jayminy,"  says  he,  "  he 's  not  one  that  I 
take  much  pride  out  ov." 

"  Very  good,  —  devil  a  bitther  joke  ever  I  had,"  says 
his  Riv'rence.  "  Come,  then,  Misther  Pope,"  says  be, 
"  hould  up  that  purty  face  ov  yours,  and  answer  me  this 
question.  Wliich  'ud  be  the  biggest  he,  if  I  said  I  seen 
a  turkey-cock  lying  on  the  broad  ov  liis  back,  and  pick- 
ing the  stars  out  ov  the  sky,  or  if  I  was  to  say  that  I 
seen  a  gandher  in  the  same  intherrestin*  posture,  ray- 
creating  himself  wid  similar  asthrononiical  experiments  ? 
Answer  me  that,  you  ould  swaddler?"  says  he. 

"  How  durst  you  call  me  a  swaddler,  sir  ?  "  says  the 
Pope,  forgetting,,  the  dear  man,  the  part  that  he  was 
actbig. 

"  Don't  think  to  bully  me  !  "  says  his  Riv'rence.  "  I 
always  daar  to  spake  the  truth,  and  it 's  well  known  that 
you  're  nothing  but  a  swaddling  ould  sent  ov  a  saint," 
says  he,  never  letting  on  to  persave  that  his  Holiness 
had  forgot  what  they  were  agreed  on. 

"  By  all  that 's  good,"  says  the  Pope,  "  I  often  hard 
ov  the  imperance  ov  you  Irish  afore,"  says  he,  "  but  I 
never  expected  to  be  called  a  saint  in  my  own  house, 
either  by  Irishman  or  Hottentot.  I'll  till  you  what, 
Misther  Maguire,"  says  he,  "  if  you  can't  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in  your  head,  you  had  bettlier  be  walking  off  wid 
yourself;  for  I  beg  lave  to  give  you  to  undherstand,  that 
it  won't  be  for  the  good  ov  your  health  if  you  call  me  by 
sicli  an  outprobrious  epithet  again,"  says  he. 

"  O,  indeed  !  then  things  is  come  to  a  purty  pass,'* 
says  his  Riv'rence,  (the  dear  funny  soul  that  he  ever 
was !)  "  when  the  lik   ov    you  compares  one  of   the 


142  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

Maguires  ov  Tempo  wid  a  wild  lugiiie !  Why,  man 
alive,  the  Maguires  was  kings  ov  Fermanagh  three 
thousand  years  afore  your  grandfather,  that  was  the 
first  ov  your  breed  that  ever  wore  shoes  and  stock- 
ings "  (I  'm  bound  to  say,  in  justice  to  the  poor  Prode- 
san,  that  this  was  all  spoken  by  his  Riv'rence  by  way 
of  a  figure  ov  spache),  "  was  sint  his  Majesty's  arrand 
to  cultivate  the  friendship  of  Prince  Lee  Boo  in  Botte- 
ney  Bay !  O,  Bryan  dear,"  «ays  he,  letting  on  to  cry, 
"  if  you  were  alive  to  hear  a  boddagh  Sassenagh  like 
this  casting  up  his  couuthry  to  me  ov  the  name  ov 
Maguire." 

"  In  the  name  ov  God,"  says  the  Pope,  very  solemni- 
ously,  "  what  is  the  mailing  ov  all  this  at  all  at  all  ?  " 
says  he. 

"  Sure,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  whispering  to  him  across 
the  table,  —  "sure,  you  know  we're  acting  a  conthra- 
warsy,  and  you  tuck  the  part  ov  the  Prodesan  champion. 
You  would  n't  be  angry  wid  me,  I  'm  sure,  for  sarving 
out  the  heretic  \a  the  best  ov  my  ability." 

"  0  begad,  I  had  forgot,"  says  the  Pope,  the  good- 
natured  ould  crethur;  "sure  enough,  you  were  only 
taking  your  part  as  a  good  Milesian  Catholic  ought 
agin  the  heretic  Sassenagh.  Well,"  says  he,  "  fire  away 
now,  and  I  '11  put  up  wid  as  many  conthroversial  com- 
pliments as  you  phise  to  pay  me." 

"Well,  then,  answer  me  my  question,  you  santimo- 
nious  ould  dandy,"  says  his   Riv'rence. 

"  In  troth,  then,"  says  the  Pope,  "  I  dunna  which 
*ud  be  the  biggest  lie,  to  my  mind,"  says  he ;  "  the  one 
appears  to  be  about  as  big  a  bounce  as  the  other." 


FATHER  TOM  AND  THE  POPE.      143 

"  Why,  then,  you  poor  simpleton,"  says  his  Eiv'rence, 
"don't  you  persave  that  forbye  the  advantage  the  gan- 
dher  'ud  have  in  the  length  ov  his  neck,  it  'ud  be  next . 
to  empossible  for  the  turkey-cock  lying  thataway  to  see 
what  he  was  about,  by  rasou  ov  his  djollars  and  other 
accouthrenients  hauging  back  over  his  eyes  r"  The  one 
about  as  big  a  bounce  as  the  other  !  0  you  misfortuuate 
crethur !  if  you  had  ever  lamed  your  A  B  C  iu  the- 
ology, you  'd  have  known  that  there  's  a  differ  betuxt 
them  two  lies  so  great,  that,  begad,  I  would  n't  wondher 
if  it  'ud  make  a  balance  ov  five  years  in  purgathory  to 
the  sowl  that  'ud  be  in  it.  Ay,  and  if  it  was  n't  that 
the  Church  is  too  Uberal  entirely,  so  she  is,  it  'ud  cost 
liis  heirs  and  succissors  betther  nor  ten  pounds  to  have 
him  out  as  soon  as  the  other.  Get  along,  man,  and 
take  half  a  year  at  dogmatical  theology :  go  and  read 
your  Dens,  you  poor  dunce,  you !  " 

"Eaaly,"  says  the  Pope,  "you're  making  the  here- 
tic shoes  too  hot  to  hould  me.  I  wundher  how  the 
Prodesans  can  stand  afore  you  at  all." 

"  Don't  think  to  delude  me,"  says  his  Riv'rence, 
"  don't  think  to  back  out  ov  your  challenge  now," 
says  he,  "  but  come  to  the  scratch  like  a  man,  if  you  are 
a  man,  and  answer  me  my  question.  What 's  the  rason, 
now,  that  Julius  Cffisar  and  the  Vargin  Mary  was  bom 
upon  the  one  day,  —  answer  me  that,  if  you  wouldn't 
be  hissed  off  the  platform  ?  " 

Well,  my  dear,  tlie  Pope  could  n't  answer  it,  and  he 
had  to  acknowledge  himself  sacked.  Then  he  axed  his 
Kiv'rence  to  tell  him  the  rason  himself;  and  Father 
Turn  communicated  it  to  him  in  Latin.     But  as  that  is 


144  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

a  very  deep  question,  I  never  hard  what  the  answer  was, 
except  that  I  'm  tould  it  was  so  mysterious,  it  made  the 
Pope's  hair  stand  on  end.  But  there  's  two  o'clock,  and 
I  '11  be  late  for  the  lecthir. 


m. 


HOW   FATHER  TOM    MADE    A   HARE    OF    HIS   HOLINESS  IN 
LATIN. 

O  DocTHER  Whateley,  Doctlier  Whateley,  I  'm  sure 
I  '11  never  die  another  death,  if  I  don't  die  aither  ov 
consumption  or  production  !  I  ever  and  always  thought 
that  asthronomy  was  the  hardest  science  that  was  till 
now,  —  and,  it 's  no  lie  I  'm  telling  you,  the  same  as- 
thronomy is  a  tough  enough  morsel  to  brake  a  man's 
fast  upon,  —  and  geolidgy  is  middling  and  hard  too,  — 
and  hydherastatics  is  no  joke,  —  but  ov  all  the  books  ov 
science  that  ever  was  opened  and  shut,  that  book  upon 
P'litical  Econimy  lifts  the  pins !  Well,  well,  if  they 
wait  till  they  persuade  me  that  taking  a  man's  rints 
out  ov  the  counthry,  and  spinding  them  in  forrain  parts 
is  n't  doing  us  out  ov  the  same,  they  '11  wait  a  loug 
time  in  truth.  But  you  're  waiting,  I  see,  to  hear  how 
his  Riv'rence  and  his  Holiness  got  on  after  finishing  the 
disputation  I  was  telling  you  of.  Well,  you  see,  my 
dear,  when  the  Pope  found  he  couldn't  hould  a  can- 
dle to  Father  Tom  in  theology  and  logic,  he  thought 
he  'd  take  the  shine  out  ov  him  in  Latin  anyhow  :•  so 
says  he,  "  Misther  Maguire,"  says  he,  "  I  quite  agree 
wid  you  that  it 's  not  lucky  for  ua  to  be  spaking  on 
them  deep  subjects  in  sicli  langidgcs  as  the  evil  spirits 


FATHER  TOM  AND  THE  POPE.      145 

is  acquainted  wid;  and,"  says  he,  "I  think  it  'ud  be 
no  harm  for  us  to  spake  from  tliis  out  in  Latin,"  says 
he,  "  for  fraid  the  devil  'ud  undherstand  what  we  are 
saying." 

"  Not  a  hair  I  care,"  says  Father  Tom,  "  whether  they 
undherstand  what  we  're  saying  or  not,  as  long  as  we 
keep  off  that  last  pint  we  wer  discussing,  and  one  or 
two  others.  Listners  never  hear  good  ov  themselves," 
says  he,  "and  if  Belzhebub  takes  anything  amiss  that 
aither  you  or  me  says  in  regard  ov  himself  or  his  fac- 
tion, let  him  stand  forrid  like  a  man,  and  never  fear,  I  '11 
give  him  his  answer.  Howandiver,  if  it 's  for  a  taste 
ov  classic  conwersation  you  are,  jist  to  put  us  in  mind 
ov  ould  Cordarius,"  says  he,  "here  's  at  you."  And  wid 
that  he  lets  fly  at  his  Holiness  wid  his  health  in  Latin. 

"Vesthrse  Sanctitatis  salutem  volo,"  says  he. 

"Vesthrffi  Revirintise  salutritati  bibo,"  says  the  Pope 
to  him  again  (haith,  it 's  no  joke,  I  tell  you,  to  remimber 
sich  a  power  ov  laming).  "Here's  to  you  wid  the 
same,"  says  the  Pope,  in  the  raal  Ciceronian.  "Nunc 
poculum  alterhum  imple,"  says  he. 

"  Cum  omni  jucunditate  in  vita,"  says  his  Riv'rence. 
"Cum  summa  concupiscintia  et  animositate,"  says  he, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Wid  all  the  veins  ov  my  heart,  I  '11 
do  that  same,"  —  and  so  wid  that  they  mix'd  their  fourth 
gun  apiece. 

"  Aqua  vitffi  vesthra  sane  est  liquor  admirabilis,"  says 
the  Pope. 

"  Verum  est  pro  te,  —  it 's  thrue  for  you,"  —  says  his 
Riv'rence,  forgetting  the  idyira  ov  the  Latin  phwrase- 
ology  in  a  manner. 

VOL.  IX.  7  J 


146  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

"Prava  est  tua  Latinitas,  domine,"  says  the  Pope, 
finding  fault  like  wid  his  etymology. 

"Parva  culpa  mihi,"  "small  blame  to  me,  that's," 
says  his  Riv'rence,  "nam  multum  laboro  in  partibus 
interioribus,"  says  he  —  the  dear  man !  that  never  was 
at  a  loss  for  an  excuse ! 

"  Quid  tibi  incommodi  ?  "  says  the  Pope,  axing  him 
what  ailed  him. 

"  Habesne  id  quod  Anglice  vocamus  a  looking-glass," 
says  his  Riv'rence. 

"  Immo,  habeo  speculum  splendidissimum  subther 
operculum  pyxidis  hujus  starnutatoriee,"  says  the  Pope, 
pulling  out  a  beautiful  goold  snuff-box,  wid  a  looking- 
glass  in  undher  the  lid  —  "  Subther  operculum  pyxidis 
hujus  starnutatorii  —  no  —  starnutatorise  —  quam  done 
aeccpi  ab  Arch-duce  Austhriaco  siptuagisima  prjethe- 
ritii,"  says  he,  —  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  got  the  box 
in  a  prisint  from  the  Queen  ov  Spain  last  Lint,  if  I 
rightly  remimber. 

Well,  Father  Tom  laughed  like  to  burst.  At  last, 
says  he,  "Father  Sancte,"  says  he,  "sub  errore  jaccs. 
'Looking-glass'  apud  nos  habct  signiflcafionem  qiiam- 
dam  psculiarem  ex  temy)ore  diei  dependentem,"  —  there 
was  a  sthring  ov  accusatives  for  yes !  — "  nam  mane 
speculum  sonat,"  says  he,  "post  prandium  vero  mat  — 
mat  —  mat"  —  sorra  be  in  me  but  I  disremimber  the 
classic  appellivation  ov  the  same  atticle.  Howand- 
iver,  his  Tliv'rence  went  on  explaining  himself  in  such 
a  way  as  no  scholar  could  mistake.  "Vesica  mea," 
says  he,  "ab  illo  ultimo  cvcrsore  distenditur,  donee 
similis  est  rumpere.     Verbis  apartis,"  says  he,  "  Vesthrse 


FATHER  TOM  AND  THE  POPE.      147 

Sanctitatis  prsesentia  salvata,  aquam  facere  valde  desid- 
hero." 

"  Ho,  ho,  lio ! "  says  the  Pope,  grabbing  up  his  box, 
"si  inquiuavisses  meam  pyxidein,  excimnicari  debuisses 
—  Hillo,  Anthony,"  says  he  to  his  head  butler,  "fetch 
Mistlier  Maguire  a  —  " 

"You  spoke  first!"  says  his  Riv'rence,  jumping  off 
his  sate,  —  "  you  spoke  first  in  the  vernacular !  I  take 
Misther  Anthony  to  witness,"  says  he. 

"  What  else  would  you  have  me  to  do  ? "  says  the 
Pope,  quite  dogged  Uke  to  sec  himself  bate  thataway 
at  his  own  waypons.  "  Sure,"  says  he,  "  Anthony 
would  n't  undherstand  a  B  from  a  bull's  foot,  if  I  spoke 
to  him  any  other  way." 

"  Well,  then,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  in  considheratiou 
ov  the  needcessity,"  says  he,  "  I  '11  let  you  off  for  this 
time !  but  mind  now,  afther  I  say  prastho,  the  first 
ov  us  that  spakes  a  word  ov  English  is  the  hare  — 
prtjcstho!" 

Neither  ov  them  spoke  for  near  a  minit,  considering 
wid  themselves  how  they  were  to  begin  sich  a  great 
thrial  ov  shkill.  At  last,  says  the  Pope,  —  the  blessed 
man,  only  think  how  'cute  it  was  ov  him  !  —  "  Domine 
Maguire,"  says  he,  "valce  desidhero,  certiorem  fieri 
de  significatione  istius  verbi  eversor  quo  jam  jam  usus 
es  "  —  (well,  surely  I  am  the  boy  for  the  Latin !) 

" Eoerxor,  id  dSt  cyathus,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "nam 
apud  iios  tamhleri  seu  eversores,  dicti  sunt  ab  evertendo 
coremoniam  inter  amicos ;  non,  ut  Temperaiitiae  Socie- 
tatis  frigidis  fautoribus  placet,  ab  evertendis  ipsis  pota- 
toribus."     (It 's  not  every  masther  undher  the  Boord, 


148  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

I  tell  you,  could  carry  sich  a  car-load  ov  the  dead  lan- 
gidges.)  "  In  agro  vero  Louthiano  et  Mideiisi,"  says 
he,  "nomiue  gaudent  quodam  secundum  linguam  An- 
glicanam  significante  bombardam  seu  tormenluni ;  quia 
ex  eis  tanquam  ex  telis  jaculatoriis  liquoricm  facibus  iin- 
mittere  solent.  Etiam  inter  hsereticos  lUos  melauosto- 
mos"  (tliat  was  a  touch  ov  Greek).  "  Presbyterianos 
Septentriouales,  qui  sunt  terribiles  potatores,  Cyathi 
dicti  sunt  facer es,  et  diniidiuni  Cyathi  hef-a-gle>ssus. 
Dimidium  Cyathi  verb  apud  Metropolitanos  Hibernicos 
dicitur  dandy y 

"  En  verbura  Anglicanum  ! "  says  the  Pope,  clapping 
his  hands,  —  "  leporem  te  fecisti  "  ;  as  much  as  to  say 
that  he  had  made  a  hare  of  himself. 

"  Dandaus,  dandaus  verbum  erat,"  says  his  Riv'rence, 
—  O,  the  dear  man,  but  it 's  himself  that  was  handy  ever 
and  always  at  getting  out  ov  a  hobble,  —  "  dand^pus  ver- 
bum erat,"  says  he,  "  quod  dicturus  cram,  cum  me  in- 
therpillavisti." 

"  Ast  ego  dico,"  says  the  Pope  very  sharp,  "  quod 
verbum  erat  dandy." 

"  Per  tibicinem  qui  coram  Mose  modulatus  est,"  says 
his  Riv'rence,  "  id  flagcllat  mundum  !  Dandcpm  dixi,  et 
tu  dicis  dandy;  ergo  tu  es  lepus,  non  ego  —  Ah,  ha! 
Saccavi  vcsthram  Sanctitafcm  !  " 

"  Mendacium  est !  "  says  the  Pope,  quite  forgetting 
liimself,  he  was  so  mad  at  being  sacked  before  the  sar- 
vints. 

Well,  if  it  hadn't  been  that  his  Holiness  was  in  it. 
Father  Tom  'ud  have  given  him  the  contints  of  his  tum- 
bler betuxt  the  two  eyes,  for  calling  him  a  liar;  and,  in 


FATHER  TOM  AND  THE  POPE.      149 

troth,  it 's  very  well  it  was  in  Latin  the  offince  was  con- 
weyed,  for,  if  it  had  been  in  the  vernacular,  there 's  no 
saying  what  'ud  ha'  been  the  consequence.  His  Riv'- 
rence  was  mighty  angry  anyhow.  "  Tu  senex  lathro," 
says  he,  "  quomodo  audes  me  mendacem  prsedicare  ?  " 

"  Et,  tu,  sacrilege  nebulo,"  says  the  Pope,  "  quomodo 
audacitatem  habeas,  me  Dei  in  terris  vicarium,  lathronem 
conwiciari  ?  " 

"  Interroga  circumcirca,"  says  his  Riv'rence. 

"Abi  ex  sedibus  meis,"  says  the  Pope. 

"Abi  tu  in  malam  crucem,"  says  his  Riv'rence. 

"  Excimnicabo  te,"  says  the  Pope. 

"  Diabolus  curat,"  says  his  Riv'rence.  < 

"  Anathema  sis,"  says  the  Pope. 

"  Oscula  meum  pod  —  "  says  his  Riv'rence  —  but,  my 
dear,  afore  he  could  finish  what  he  was  going  to  say,  the 
Pope  broke  out  into  the  vernacular,  "  Get  out  o'  my 
house,  you  reprobate ! "  says  he,  in  sich  a  rage  that  he 
could  contain  himself  widin  the  Latin  no  longer. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  —  ho,  ho,  ho !  "  says  his  Riv'rence. 
"  Who 's  the  hare  now,  your  Holiness  ?  0,  by  this  and 
by  that,  I've  sacked  you  clane  !  Clane  and  clever  I've 
done  it,  and  no  mistake !  You  see  what  a  bit  of  desate 
will  do  wid  the  wisest,  your  Holiness,  —  sure  it  was  jok- 
ing I  was,  on  purpose  to  aggravate  you,  —  all 's  fair,  you 
know,  in  love,  law,  and  conthravarsy.  In  troth  if  I  'd 
thought  you  'd  have  taken  it  so  much  to  heart,  I  'd  have 
put  my  head  into  the  fire  afore  I  'd  have  said  a  word  to 
offend  you,"  says  he,  for  he  seen  that  the  Pope  was  very 
vexed.  "  Sure,  God  forbid,  that  I  'd  say  anythii\g  agin 
your  Holiness,  barring  it  was  in  fun  :  for  are  n't  you  the 


150  LITTLE    CLASSICS.     , 

fatlier  ov  the  faitlifiil,  and  the  thnie  vicar  ov  God  upon 
earth  ?  And  are  n't  I  ready  to  go  down  on  my  two 
knees  this  blessed  ininit  and  beg  your  a])ostolical  pardon 
for  every  word  tliat  I  said  to  your  displasement  ?  " 

"  Are  you  in  arnest  that  it  is  in  fun  you  wer  ?  "  says 
the  Pope. 

"  May  I  never  die  if  I  are  n't,"  says  his  Riv'rence.  "  It 
was  all  to  provoke  your  Holiness  to  commit  a  brache  ov 
the  Latin,  that  I  tuck  the  small  liberties  I  did,"  says  he. 

"  I  'd  have  you  to  take  care,"  says  the  Pope,  "  how 
you  take  sich  small  liberties  again,  or  maybe  you  '11  pro- 
voke me  to  commit  a  brache  ov  the  pace." 

"  Well,  and  if  I  did,"  says  his  lliv'rence,  "  I  know  a 
sartan  preparation  ov  chymicals  that's  very  good  for 
curing  a  brache  either  in  Latinity  or  friendship." 

"What's  that?"  says  the  Pope,  quite  mollified,  and 
sitting  down  again  at  the  table  that  he  had  ris  from  in 
the  first  j)luff  of  his  indignation.  "  What 's  that  ? " 
says  he,  "  for  'pon  my  Epistolical  'davy,  I  thhik  it  'ud 
n't  be  asy  to  bate  this  miraculous  mixthir  tliat  we've 
been  thrying  to  anilize  this  two  hours  back,"  says  he, 
taking  a  mighty  scientifical  swig  out  ov  the  bottom  ov 
his  tumbler. 

"It's  good  for  a  beginning,"  says  his  lliv'rence;  "it 
lays  a  very  nate  foundation  for  more  sarious  operation  : 
but  we  're  now  arrived  at  a  pariod  ov  the  evening  when 
it 's  time  to  proceed  wid  our  shuperstnicture  by  compass 
and  square,  like  free  and  cxciptcd  masons  as  we  both 
are." 

My  time's  up  for  the  present;  but  I'll  tell  you  the 
rest  in  the  evening  at  home. 


FATHER  TOM  AND  THE  POPE.      151 


IV. 


HOW    FATHER    TOM    AND     HIS     HOLINESS     DISPUTED     AT 
METAPHYSICS   AND   ALGEBKA. 

God  be  wid  the  time  when  I  went  to  the  classical 
seminary  ov  yirdramore  !  when  I  'd  bring  my  sod  o'  turf 
uiidher  my  arm,  and  sit  down  on  my  shnug  boss  o'  straw, 
wid  my  back  to  the  masther  and  my  shins  to  the  fire, 
and  score  my  sum  in  Dives's  denominations  ov  the  double 
rule  o'  three,  or  play  fox  and  geese  wid  purty  Jane 
Cruise  that  sat  next  me,  as  plisantly  as  the  day  was  long, 
widout  any  one  so  much  as  saying,  "  Mikey  Hefferman, 
what 's  that  you  're  about  ?  "  —  for  ever  since  I  was  in 
the  one  lodge  wid  poor  ould  Mat  I  had  my  own  way 
iu  his  school  as  free  as  ever  I  had  in  my  mother's  she- 
been. 

God  be  wid  them  days,  I  say  again,  for  it 's  althered 
times  wid  me,  I  judge,  since  I  got  undlier  Carlisle  and' 
Whateley.  Sich  sthrictness  !  sich  ordher  !  sich  dhrilhng, 
and  lecthiriug,  and  tuthoring  as  they  do  get  on  wid !  I 
wisht  to  gracious  the  one  half  ov  their  rules  and  regila- 
tious  was  sunk  in  the  say.  And  they  're  getting  so 
sthrict  too  about  having  fair  play  for  the  heretic  childer ! 
We  've  to  have  no  more  schools  in  the  chapels,  nor  masses 
in  the  schools.  O,  by  this  and  by  that,  it  '11  never  do  at 
all! 

The  ould  plan  was  twenty  times  betther :  and,  for  my 
own  part,  if  it  was  n't  that  the  clargy  supports  them  in 
a  manner,  and  the  grant 's  a  thing  not  easily  done  widout 
these  hard  times,  I  'd  see  if  I  could  n't  get  a  sheltered 


152  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

spot  nigh  hand  the  chapel,  and  set  up  again  on  the  good 
ould  principle :  and  faix,  I  think  our  metropolitan  'ud 
stand  to  me,  for  I  know  that  his  Grace's  motto  was  ever 
and  always,  that,  "  Ignorance  is  the  thrue  mother  ov 
piety." 

But  I  'm  running  away  from  ray  narrative  entirely,  so 
I  am.  "  You  '11  plase  to  ordher  up  the  housekeeper, 
then,"  says  father  Tom  to  the  Pope,  "wid  a  pint  ov 
sweet  milk  in  a  skillet,  and  the  bulk  ov  her  fist  ov  biit- 
ther,  along  wid  a  dust  ov  soft  sugar  in  a  saucer,  and  I  'il 
show  you  the  way  of  producing  a  decoction  that,  I  '11 
be  bound,  will  hunt  the  thirst  out  ov  every  nook  and 
corner  in  your  Holiness's  blessed  carcidge." 

The  Pope  ordhered  up  the  ingredients,  and  they  were 
brought  in  by  the  head  butler. 

"That'll  not  do  at  all,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "the  in- 
gredients won't  combine  in  due  proportion  unless  ye  do 
as  I  bid  yes.  Send  up  the  housekeeper,"  says  he,  "  for 
a  faymale  hand  is  ondispinsably  necessary  to  produce  the 
adaption  of  the  particles  and  the  concurrence  of  the  cor- 
pus'cles,  widout  which  you  might  boil  till  morning  and 
never  fetch  the  cruds  off  ov  it." 

Well,  the  Pope  whispered  to  his  head  butler,  and  by 
and  by  up  there  comes  an  ould  faggot  ov  a  Cuillean,  that 
was  enough  to  frighten  a  horse  from  his  oats. 

"Don't  thry  for  to  desave  me,"  says  his  Riv'rence, 
"  for  it 's  no  use,  I  tell  yes.  Send  up  the  housekeeper, 
I  bid  yes :  I  seen  her  presarving  gooseberries  in  the 
panthry  as  I  came  up  :  she  has  eyes  as  black  as  a  sloe," 
says  he,  "  and  cheeks  like  the  rose  in  June ;  and  sorra 
taste  ov  this  celestial  mixthir  shall  crass  the  lips  ov  maa 


FATHER  TOM  AND  THE  POPE.      153 

or  morteal  this  blessed  night  till  she  stirs  the  same  up 
wid  her  owii  delicate  little  finger." 

"  Misther  Maguire,"  says  the  Pope,  "  it's  very  un- 
proper  ov  you  to  spake  that  way  ov  my  housekeeper  :  I 
won't  allow  it,  sir." 

"  Honor  bright,  your  Holiness,"  says  his  Riv'rence, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  heart. 

"  O,  by  this  and  by  that,  Misther  Maguire,"  says  the 
Pope,  "  I  '11  have  none  of  your  insinivations ;  I  don't 
care  who  sees  my  whole  household,"  says  he ;  "I  don't 
care  if  all  the  faymales  undher  my  roof  was  paraded 
down  the  High  Street  of  Room,"  says  he. 

"  O,  it 's  plain  to  be  seen  how  little  you  care  who  sees 
them,"  says  his  Riv'rence.  "  You  're  afeard,  now,  if  I 
was  to  see  your  housekeeper,  that  I  'd  say  she  was  too 
handsome." 

"  No,  I  'm  not !  "  says  the  Pope,  "  I  don't  care  who 
sees  her,"  says  he.  "  Anthony,"  says  he  to  the  head 
butler,  "  bid  Eliza  throw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and 
come  up  here."  Wasn't  that  stout  in  the  blessed  man? 
Well,  my  dear,  up  she  came,  stepping  like  a  three-year- 
old,  and  blushing  like  the  brake  o'  day :  for  though  her 
apron  was  thrown  over  her  head  as  she  came  forrid,  till 
you  could  barely  see  the  tip  ov  her  chin, —  more  be 
token  there  was  a  lovely  dimple  in  it,  as  I  've  been  tould, 
—  yet  she  let  it  shlip  abit  to  one  side,  by  chance  like, 
jist  as  she  got  foruenst  the  fire,  and  if  she  wouldn't 
liave  given  his  Riv'rence  a  shot  if  he  had  n't  been  a 
priest,  it 's  no  matther. 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  says  he,  "  you  must  take  that  skillet, 
and  hould  it  over  the  fire  till  the  milk  comes  to  a  blood 
7* 


154  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

hate ;  and  the  way  you  '11  know  that  will  be  by  stirrhig  it 
onc't  or  twice  wid  the  little  finger  ov  your  right  hand, 
afore  you  put  in  the  butther :  not  that  I  misdoubt,"  says 
he,  "  but  that  the  same  finger 's  fairer  nor  the  whitest 
milk  that  ever  came  from  the  tit." 

"None  of  your  deludhering  talk  to  the  young  woman, 
sir,"  says  the  Pope,  mighty  stern.  "  Stir  the  posset  as 
he  bids  you,  Eliza,  and  then  be  off  wid  yourself,"  says 
he. 

"  I  beg  your  Holiness's  pardon  ten  thousand  times," 
says  his  lliv'rence,  "  I  'm  sure  I  meant  nothing  ouproper ; 
1  hope  I  'm  uncapable  ov  any  sich  dirilection  of  my  duty," 
says  he.  "  But,  marciful  Saver !  "  he  cried  out,  jumping 
up  on  a  suddent,  "  look  behind  you,  your  Holiness,  — 
I  'm  blest  but  the  room 's  on  fire !  " 

Sure  enough  the  caudle  fell  down  that  minit,  and  was 
near  setting  fire  to  the  windy-curtains,  and  there  was 
some  bustle,  as  you  may  suppose,  getting  things  put  to 
rights.  And  now  I  have  to  tell  you  ov  a  really  onplcas- 
ant  occurrence.  If  I  was  a  Prodesan  that  was  in  it,  I  'd 
say  that  while  the  Pope's  back  was  turned.  Father  Tom 
made  free  wid  the  two  lips  of  Miss  Eliza ;  but,  upon  my 
conscience,  I  believe  it  was  a  mere  mistake  that  his  Holi- 
ness fell  into  on  account  of  his  being  an  ould  man  and 
not  having  aither  his  eyesight  or  his  hearing  very  par- 
feet.  At  any  rate,  it  can't  be  denied  but  that  ho  had  a 
sthrong  imprission  that  sich  was  the  case  ;  for  he  wheeled 
about  as  quick  as  thought,  jist  as  his  Riv'rcnce  was 
sitting  down,  and  cliarged  him  \vid  the  offiiice  plain  and 
plump.  "  Is  it  kissing  my  housekeeper  before  my  face 
you  are,  you  villain ! "  says  he.     "  Go  down  out  o'  this," 


FATHEE   TOM   AND   THE    POPE.  155 

says  he,  to  Miss  Eliza,  "  aad  do  you  be  packing  off  wid 
you,"  he  says  to  Father  Tom,  "  for  it 's  not  safe,  so  it 
is  n't,  to  have  the  likes  ov  you  in  a  house  where  there 's 
temptation  in  your  way." 

"  Is  it  me  ?  "  says  his  Riv'rence ;  "  why  what  would 
your  Holiness  be  at,  at  all  ?  Sure  I  was  n't  doing  no 
such  tiling." 

"  Would  you  have  me  doubt  the  evidence  ov  my 
sinscs  ?  "  says  the  Pope ;  "  would  you  have  me  doubt  the 
tesi  imony  of  my  eyes  and  ears  ?  "  says  he. 

"Indeed  I  would  so,"  says  his  lliv'rence,  "if  they 
pretend  to  have  iuformed  your  Holiness  ov  any  sich 
foolishness." 

"  Why,"  says  the  Pope,  "  I  've  seen  you  afther  kissing 
EUza  as  plain  as  I  see  tlie  nose  on  your  face ;  I  heard 
the  smack  you  gave  her  as  plain  as  ever  I  heard  thun- 
dher." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  whether  you  see  the  nose  on 
my  face  or  not  ?  "  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  and  how  do  you 
know  whether  what  you  thought  was  thuudher,  was 
thundher  at  all  ?  Them  operations  on  the  sinses,"  says 
he,  "  comprises  only  particular  corporal  emotions,  con- 
nected wid  sartam  confused  perciptions  called  siusations, 
and  is  n't  to  be  depended  upon  at  all.  If  we  were  to 
fjllow  them  blind  guides  we  might  jist  as  well  turn  her- 
etics at  ouc't.  'Pon  my  secret  word,  your  Holiness, 
it 's  neither  charitable  nor  orthodox  ov  you  to  set  up 
Ihs  testimony  ov  your  eyes  and  ears  agin  the  char- 
acthcr  ov  a  clergyman.  And  now,  see  how  aisy  it 
is  to  explain  all  them  phwenomena  that  per{)lexed  you. 
I  ris  and  went  over  beside  the  young  woman  because 


156  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

the  skillet  was  boiling  over,  to  help  her  to  save  the 
dhrop  ov  liquor  that  was  Ib  it ;  and  as  for  the  noise 
you  heard,  my  dear  man,  it  was  neither  more  nor 
less  nor  myself  dhrawing  the  cork  out  ov  this  bhssid 
bottle." 

"  Don't  offer  to  thrape  that  upon  me ! "  says  the 
Pope ;  "  here  's  the  cork  in  the  bottle  still,  as  tight  as 
a  wedge." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  that 's  not 
the  cork  at  all,"  says  he ;  "I  dhrew  the  cork  a  good  two 
minits  ago,  and  it 's  very  purtily  spitted  on  the  end  ov 
this  blessed  corkshcrew  at  this  prisint  moment;  how- 
andiver  you  can't  see  it,  because  it 's  only  its  real  prisince 
that 's  in  it.  But  that  appearance  that  you  call  a  cork," 
says  he,  "  is  nothing  but  the  outward  spacies  and  exter- ' 
nal  qualities  of  the  cortical  nathur.  Tliem  's  nothing  but 
the  accidents  of  the  cork  that  you're  looking  at  and 
handlmg;  but,  as  I  tould  you  afore,  the  real  cork 's  dhrew 
and  is  here  prisint  on  the  end  ov  this  nate  little  insthru- 
ment,  and  it  was  the  noise  I  made  in  dhrawing  it,  and 
uotliing  else,  that  you  mistook  for  the  sound  ov  the 
poguey 

You  know  there  was  no  conthravening  what  he  said ; 
and  the  Pope  could  n't  openly  deny  it.  Howandiver  he 
thried  to  pick  a  hole  in  it  this  way.  "  Granting,"  says 
he,  "  tluit  there  is  tl»e  differ  you  say  betwixt  tlie  reality 
ov  the  cork  and  these  cortical  accidents  ;  and  tliat  it 's 
quite  possible,  as  you  allidge,  that  the  thrue  cork  is 
really  prisint  on  the  end  ov  the  shcrew,  while  tlie  acci- 
dents keep  the  mouth  ov  the  bottle  stopped  —  still,"  says 
he,  "  I  can't  undherstand,  thougii  willing  to  acquit  you, 


FATHER   TOM   AND   THE    POPE.  157 

bow  the  dhrawing  ov  the  real  cork,  that's  onpalpable 
and  widout  accidents,  could  produce  the  accident  of  that 
siusible  explosion  I  heard  jist  now." 

"  All  I  can  say,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  is  that  it  was  a 
rale  accident,  anyhow." 

"  Ay,"  says  the  Pope,  "  the  kiss  you  gev  Eliza,  you 
mane." 

"No,"  says  his  Biv'rence,  "but  the  report  I 
made." 

"  I  don't  doubt  you,"  says  the  Pope. 

"  No  cork  could  be  dhrew  with  less  noise,"  says  his 
Riv'rence. 

"  It  would  be  hard  for  anything  to  be  less  nor  noth- 
ing, barring  algebra,"  says  the  Pope. 

"  I  can  prove  to  tbe  conthrary,"  says  his  Riv'rence. 
"This  glass  ov  whiskey  is  less  nor  that  tumbler  ov 
puucli,  and  that  tumbler  ov  punch  is  nothing  to  this  jug 
ov  scaltheeu." 

"Do  you  judge  by  superficial  misure  or  by  the  liquid 
contents  ?  "  says  the  Pope. 

"  Dou't  stop  me,  betwixt  my  premises  and  my  conclu- 
sion," says  his  Riv'rence :  "  Erffo,  this  glass  ov  whiskey 
is  less  nor  nothing ;  and  for  that  raison  I  see  no  harm  in 
life  in  adding  it  to  the  contents  ov  the  same  jug,  just  by 
way  ov  a  frost-uail." 

"  Adding  what 's  less  nor  nothing,"  says  the  Pope, 
"  is  subtraction  according  to  algebra,  so  here  goes  to 
make  tlie  rule  good,"  says  he,  filling  his  tumbler  wid  the 
blessed  stuff,  and  sitting  down  again  at  the  table,  for  the 
anger  did  n't  stay  two  minits  on  him,  the  good-hearted 
ould  sowl. 


158  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Two  minuses  make  one  plus,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  as 
ready  as  you  plase,  "and  that'll  account  for  the  in- 
creased daycrement  I  mane  to  take  the  hberty  of  pro- 
ducing in  the  same  mixed  quantity,"  says  he,  follyiug  his 
Holiuess's  epistolical  example. 

"  By  all  that 's  good,"  says  the  Pope,  "  that 's  the 
best  stuff  I  ever  tasted ;  you  call  it  a  mix'd  quantity,  but 
I  say  it 's  prime." 

"  Siuce  it 's  ov  the  first  ordher,  then,"  says  his  Riv'- 
rence, "  we  '11  have  the  less  deffeequilty  in  reducing  it 
to  a  simple  equation." 

"  You  '11  have  no  fractions  at  my  side  anyhow,"  says 
the  Pope.  "  Faix,  I  'm  afeared,"  says  he,  "  it 's  only 
too  aisy  ov  solution  our  sum  is  like  to  be." 

"  Never  fear  for  that,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  I  've  a 
good  stick  ov  surds  here  in  the  bottle ;  for  I  tell  you  it 
will  take  us  a  long  time  to  exthract  the  root  ov  it,  at  the 
rate  we  're  going  on." 

"  What  makes  you  call  the  blessed  quart  an  irrational 
quantity  ?  "  says  the  Pope. 

"  Because  it 's  too  much  for  one  and  too  little  for 
two,"  says  his  Riv'rence. 

"  Clear  it  ov  its  coefficient,  and  we  '11  thry,"  says  the 
Pope. 

"  Hand  me  over  the  exponent  then,"  says  his  Riv'- 
rence. 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  says  the  Pope. 

"  The  shcrew,  to  be  sure,"  says  his  Riv'rence. 

"  Wliat  for  ?  "  says  the  Pope. 

"  To  dliraw  the  cork,"  says  his  Riv'rence. 

"  Sure,  the  cork  's  dhrew,"  says  the  Pope. 


FATHER   TOM   AND    THE    POPE.  159 

"But  tlie  sperets  can't  get  out  on  account  ov  the 
accidents  that 's  stuck  in  the  neck  ov  the  bottle,"  says 
his  Riv'reuce. 

"  Accident  ought  to  be  passable  to  sperit,"  says  the 
Pope,  "  and  that  makes  me  suspect  that  the  reality  ov 
the  cork's  in  it  afther  all." 

"That's  a  barony -masia,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "and 
I  'm  not  bound  to  answer  it.  But  the  fact  is,  that 
it 's  the  accidents  ov  the  sperits  too  that 's  in  it, 
and  the  reality's  passed  out  through  the  cortical 
spacies,  as  you  say ;  for,  you  may  have  observed, 
we've  both  been  in  real  good  sperits  ever  since  the 
cork  was  dlirawn,  and  where  else  would  the  real 
sperits  come  from  if  they  wouldn't  come  out  ov  the 
bottle  ?  " 

"Well,  then,"  says  the  Pope,  "since  we've  got  the 
reality,  there 's  no  use  throubling  ourselves  wid  the 
accidents." 

"O,  begad,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "the  accidents  is 
very  essential  too ;  for  a  man  may  be  in  the  best  ov 
good  sperits,  as  far  as  his  immaterial  part  goes,  and 
yet  need  the  accidental  qualities  ov  good  liquor  to  hunt 
the  sinsible  thirst  out  ov  him."  So  he  dhraws  the  cork 
in  earnest,  and  sets  about  brewing  the  other  skillet  ov 
xcallkeen  ;  but,  faiz,  he  had  to  get  up  the  ingradients 
this  time  by  the  hands  ov  ould  Moley ;  though  devil  a 
taste  ov  her  little  finger  he'd  let  widin  a  yard  ov  the 
same  coctiou. 

But,  my  dear,  hpre  's  the  "  Freeman's  Journal,"  and 
we  '11  see  what 's  the  news  afore  we  finish  the  residuary 
proceedings  of  their  two  Holinesses. 


160  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 


THE     REASON    WHY     FATHER     TOM    WAS     NOT     MADE     A 
CARDINAL. 

Hurroo,  my  darlings  !  —  did  n't  I  tell  you  it  'ud  never 
do?  Success  to  bould  Johu  Tuam  and  the  ould  sinii- 
nary  ov  Firdramore !  O,  more  power  to  your  Grace 
every  day  you  rise,  'tis  you  that  has  broken  their 
Boord  into  shivers  undher  your  feet !  Sure,  and  is  n't 
it  a  proud  day  for  Ireland,  this  blessed  feast  ov  the 
chpir  ov  Saint  Pether  ?  Isn't  Carlisle  and  Whatelcy 
smashed  to  pieces,  and  their  whole  college  of  swaddling 
teachers  knocked  into  smidhereens.  John  Tuam,  your 
sowl,  has  tuck  his  pasthoral  staff  in  his  hand  and 
heathen  them  out  o'  Connaught  as  fast  as  ever  Pathric 
druve  the  sarpints  into  Clew  Bay. 

Poor  ould  Mat  Kevanagh,  if  he  was  alive  this  day, 
't  is  he  would  be  the  happy  man.  "  My  curse  upon  their 
g'ographies  and  Bibles,"  he  used  to  say  ;  "  where 's  the 
use  ov  perplexing  the  poor  childre  wid  what  we  don't 
undherstand  ourselves?"  No  use  at  all,  in  troth,  and 
so  I  said  from  the  first  myself. 

Well,  thank  God  and  his  Grace,  we  '11  have  no  more 
thrigonomethry  nor  scripther  in  Connaught.  We  '11 
hould  our  lodges  every  Saturday  night,  as  we  used  to 
do,  wid  our  chairman  behind  the  masther's  desk,  and 
we  '11  hear  our  mass  every  Sunday  morning  wid  the 
blessed  priest  standing  afore  the  same. 

I  wisht  to  goodness  I  hadn't  parted  wid  my  Seven 
Champions  ov  Christendom  and  Freney  the  Robber: 


FATHEli   TOM    AND    THE    POPE.  161 

they  're  books  that  '11  be  in  great  requist  in  Leithrim  as 
soon  as  the  pasthoral  gets  wind.  Glory  be  to  God ! 
I  've  done  wid  their  lecthirs,  —  they  may  all  go  and  be 
d — d  wid  their  consumption  and  production. 

I  'm  off  to  Tallymactaggart  before  daylight  in  the 
morning,  where  I  '11  thry  whether  a  sod  or  two  o'  turf 
can't  consume  a  cart-load  ov  heresy,  and  whether  a 
weekly  meeting  ov  the  lodge  can't  produce  a  new  thay- 
ory  ov  rints. 

But  afore  I  take  my  lave  ov  you,  I  may  as  well  finish 
my  story  about  poor  Father  Tom  that  I  hear  is  coming 
up  to  slate  the  heretics  in  Adam  and  Eve  during  the 
Lint. 

The  Pope  —  and  indeed  it  ill  became  a  good  Catholic 
to  say  anything  agin  him  —  no  more  would  I,  only  that 
his  Riv'rence  was  in  it  —  but  you  see  the  fact  ov  it  is, 
that  the  Pope  was  as  envious  as  ever  he  could  be,  at 
seeing  himself  sacked  right  and  left  by  Father  Tom  ;  and 
bate  out  o'  the  face,  the  way  he  was,  on  every  science  and 
subjec'  that  was  started.  So,  not  to  be  outdone  alto- 
gether, he  says  to  his  Riv'rence,  "  you  're  a  man  that 's 
fond  of  the  brute  crayation,  I  hear,  Misther  Maguire  ?  " 

"  I  don't  deny  it,"  says  his  Eiv'rence.  "  I  've  dogs 
that  I  'm  willing  to  run  agin  any  man's,  ay,  or  to  match 
them  agin  any  other  dogs  in  the  world  for  genteel  edica- 
tion  and  polite  manners,"  says  he. 

"  I  '11  hould  you  a  pound,"  says  the  Pope,  "  that  I  've 
a  quadhniped  in  my  possession  that 's  a  wiser  baste  nor 
any  dog  in  your  kennel." 

"Done,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  and  they  staked  -the 
money. 

K 


162  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

"What  can  this  lamed  quadhruped  o'  yours  do?" 
says  his  Riv'rence. 

"  It 's  my  mule,"  says  the  Pope,  "  and,  if  you  were 
to  offer  her  goolden  oats  aud  clover  off  the  meadows  o' 
Paradise,  sorra  taste  ov  aither  she  'd  let  pass  her  teeth 
till  the  first  mass  is  over  every  Sunday  or  holiday  in  the 
year." 

"  Well,  and  what  'ud  you  say  if  1  showed  you  a  baste 
ov  mine,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  "  that,  instead  ov  fasting 
till  first  mass  is  over  only,  fasts  out  the  whole  four-and- 
twenty  hours  ov  every  Wednesday  and  Friday  in  the 
week  as  reg'lar  as  a  Ciiristian?" 

"  O,  be  asy,  Masther  Maguirc,"  says  the  Pope. 

"  You  don't  b'lieve  me,  don't  you  ?  "  says  his  Riv'- 
rence ;  "  very  well,  I  '11  soon  show  you  whether  or  no." 
And  he  put  his  knuckles  in  his  mouth,  and  gev  a  whistle 
that  made  the  Pope  stop  his  fingers  in  his  ears.  The 
aycho,  my  dear,  was  hardly  done  playing  wid  the  cobwebs 
in  the  comish,  when  the  door  flies  open,  and  in  jumps 
Spring.  The  Pope  happened  to  be  sitting  next  the  door, 
betuxt  him  and  his  Riv'rence,  and,  may  I  never  die,  if 
he  did  n't  clear  him,  thriple  crown  and  all,  at  one  spring. 
"God's  presence  be  about  us  !  "  says  the  Pope,  thinking 
it  was  an  evil  spirit  come  to  fly  away  wid  him  for  the  lie 
that  he  iiad  told  in  regard  ov  his  mule  (for  it  was  nothing 
more  nor  a  thrick  that  consisted  in  grazing  the  brute's 
teeth) :  but,  seeing  it  was  only  one  ov  the  greatest 
beauties  ov  a  greyhound  that  he  'd  ever  laid  his  epistoli- 
cal  eyes  on,  he  soon  recovered  ov  his  friglit,  and  begjin 
to  pat  him,  while  Father  Tom  ris  and  went  to  the  sidc- 
boord,  where  he  cut  a  slice  ov  pork,  a  slice  ov  beef,  a 


FATHER  TOM  AND  THE  POPE.      163 

slice  ov  mutton,  and  a  slice  ov  salmon,  and  put  tliem  all 
on  a  plate  thegither.  "  Here,  Spring,  my  man,"  says  he, 
setting  the  plate  down  afore  him  on  the  hearthstone, 
"  here 's  your  supper  for  you  this  blesssd  Friday  night." 
Not  a  word  more  he  said  nor  what  I  tell  you ;  and,  you 
m;iy  believe  it  or  not,  but  it 's  the  blessed  truth  that  the 
dog,  afther  jist  tasting  the  salmon,  and  spitting  it  out 
again,  lifted  his  nose  out  o'  the  plate,  and  stood  wid  his 
jaws  wathermg,  and  his  tail  wagging,  looking  up  in  his 
lliv'rence's  face,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Give  me  your 
absolution,  till  I  hide  them  temptations  out  o'  my  sight." 
"  There  's  a  dog  that  knows  his  duty,"  says  his  Riv'- 
rence ;  "  there  's  a  baste  that  knows  how  to  conduct 
himself  aither  in  the  parlor  or  the  field.  You  think  him  a 
good  dog,  looking  at  him  here  :  but  I  wisht  you  seen 
him  on  the  side  ov  Sleeve-an-Eirin  !  Be  my  soul,  you  'd 
say  the  hill  was  running  away  from  undher  him.  O,  I 
wisht  you  had  been  wid  me,"  says  he,  never  letting  on 
to  see  the  dog  stale,  "  one  day,  last  Lent,  that  I  was 
coming  from  mass.  Spring  was  near  a  quarther  ov  u 
mile  behind  me,  for  the  childher  was  delaying  him  wid 
bread  and  butther  at  the  chapel  door ;  when  a  lump  ov 
a  hare  jumped  out  ov  the  plantations  ov  Grouse  Lodgo 
and  ran  acrass  the  road ;  so  I  gev  the  whilloo,  and  know- 
ing that  she  'd  take  the  rise  of  the  hill,  I  made  over  tha 
ditch,  and  up  through  Mullaghcashel  as  hard  as  I  could 
pelt,  still  keaping  her  in  view,  but  afore  I  had  gone  a 
percii,  Spring  seen  her,  and  away  the  two  went  like  the 
wind,  up  Drumrewy,  and  down  Clooneen,  and  over  the 
river,  widout  his  being  able  onc't  to  turn  her.  Well,  I 
run  on  till  I  come  to  the  DifTagher,  aud  through  it  I 


164  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

went,  for  the  wather  was  low  and  I  did  n't  mind  being 
wet  shod,  and  out  on  tlie  other  side,  where  I  got  up  on 
a  ditch,  and  seen  sich  a  coorse  as  I  'II  be  bound  to  say 
was  never  seen  afore  or  since.  If  Spring  turned  that 
hare  onc't  that  day,  he  turned  her  fifty  times,  up  and 
down,  back  and  for'ard,  throughout  and  about.  At  last 
he  run  her  right  into  the  big  quarryhole  in  Mullaghbawn, 
and  when  I  went  up  to  look  for  her  fud,  there  I  found 
him  sthretched  on  his  side,  not  able  to  stir  a  foot,  and 
the  hare  lying  about  an  inch  afore  his  nose  as  dead  as  a 
door-nail,  and  divil  a  mark  of  a  tooth  upon  her.  Eh, 
Spring,  is  n't  that  thrue  ?  "  says  he.  Jist  at  that  minit 
the  clock  sthruck  twelve,  and,  before  you  could  say 
thrap-sticks.  Spring  had  the  plateful  of  mate  consaled. 
"  Now,"  says  his  Riv'reuce,  "  hand  me  over  my  pound, 
for  I  've  won  my  bate  fairly." 

"  You  *11  excuse  me,"  says  the  Pope,  pocketing  his 
money,  "  for  we  put  the  clock  half  an  hour  back,  out  ov 
compliment  to  your  Riv'rence,"  says  he,  "and  it  was 
Sathurday  morning  afore  he  came  up  at  all." 

"  Well,  it 's  no  matther,"  says  his  Riv'rence,  putting 
back  his  pound-note  in  his  pocket-book.  "  Only,"  says 
he,  "  it 's  hardly  fair  to  expect  a  brute  baste  to  be  so  well 
skilled  in  the  science  ov  chronology." 

In  troth  his  Riv'rence  was  badly  used  in  the  same  bet, 
for  he  won  it  clever  ;  and,  indeed,  I  'm  afeard  the  shabby 
way  he  was  thrated  had  some  effect  in  putting  it  into  his 
mind  to  do  what  he  did.  "  Will  your  Holiness  take  n 
blast  ov  the  pipe  ?  "  says  he,  dhrawing  out  his  dhudeen. 

"  I  never  smoke,"  says  the  Pope,  "  but  I  have  n't  the 
least  objection  to  the  smell  of  the  tobaccay." 


FATHER  TOM  AND  THE  POPE.      165 

"0,  you  had  betther  take  a  dhraw,"  says  his  Biv'- 
rence,  "  it  'II  relish  the  dhrink,  that  'ud  be  too  luscious 
entirely,  widout  something  to  flavor  it." 

"  I  had  thouglits,"  said  the  Pope,  wid  the  laste  siga 
ov  a  hiccup  on  him,  "  ov  getting  up  a  broiled  bone  for 
the  same  purpose." 

"Well,"  says  his  Riv'reuce,  "a  broiled  bone  'ud  do 
no  manner  ov  harm  at  this  present  time ;  but  a  smoke," 
says  he,  "  'ud  flavor  botli  the  devil  and  the  dhrink." 

"  What  sort  o'  tobaccay  is  it  that 's  in  it  ?  "  says  the 
Pope. 

"  Raal  nagur-head,"  says  liis  Riv'rence,  "  a  very  mild 
and  salubrious  spacies  ov  the  philosophic  weed." 

"  Then,  I  don't  care  if  I  do  take  a  dhraw,"  says  the 
Pope.  Then  Father  Tom  held  the  coal  himself  till  his 
Holiness  had  the  pipe  lit ;  and  they  sat  widout  saying 
anytliing  worth  mentioning  for  about  five  minutes. 

At  last  the  Pope  says  to  his  Riv'rence,  "I  dunna 
what  gev  me  this  plaguy  hiccup,"  says  he.  "Dhrink 
about,"  says  he  —  "  Begorra,"  he  says,  "  I  think  I  'm 
getting  memer  'an 's  good  for  me.  Sing  us  a  song,  your 
Riv'rence,"  says  he. 

Father  Tom  then  sung  him  Monatagrenage  and  the 
Bunch  o'  Rushes,  and  he  was  mighty  well  pleased  wid 
both,  keeping  time  wid  his  hands,  and  joining  in  the 
choruses,  when  his  hiccup  'ud  let  him.  At  last,  my 
dear,  he  opens  the  lower  button  ov  his  waistcoat,  and 
the  top  one  of  his  waistband,  and  calls  to  Masther  An- 
thony to  lift  up  one  ov  the  windys.  "  I  dunna  what 's 
wrong  wid  me,  at  all  at  all,"  says  he ;  "I 'm  mortal 
sick." 


166  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  I  tlmist,"  says  liis  Riv'rence,  "  tlie  pasthry  that  you 
ate  at  dinner  has  n't  disagreed  wid  your  Holiness's 
stomach." 

"  O  my !  oh ! "  says  the  Pope,  "  what  's  tliis  at 
all?"  gasping  for  breath,  and  as  pale  as  a  sheet,  wid 
a  could  swate  bursting  out  over  his  forehead,  and  the 
palms  ov  his  hands  spread  out  to  cotch  the  air.  "O  my ! 
O  my  !  "  says  he,  "  fetch  me  a  basin  !  —  Don't  spake  to 
me.  Oh  !  —  oh  !  —  blood  alive  !  —  0,  my  head,  my 
head,  hould  my  head !  —  oh  !  —  ubh  !  —  I  'm  poisoned ! 

—  ach ! " 

"  It  was  them  plaguy  pasthries,"  says  his  R.iv'rence. 
"  Hould  his  head  liard,"  says  he,  "  and  clap  a  wet  cloth 
over  his  timples.  If  you  could  only  thry  another  dliraw 
o'  the  pipe,  your  Holiness,  it  'ud  set  you  to  rights  in  no 
time." 

"  Carry  me  to  bed,"  says  the  Pope,  "  and  never  let 
me  see  that  wild  Irish  priest  again.  I  'm  poisoned  by 
his  manes  —  ubplsch  !  —  ach  !  —  ach  !  —  He  dined  wid 
Cardinal  Wayld  ye?therday,"  says  he,  "  and  he  's  bribed 
him  to  take  me  off.  Send  for  a  confessor,"  says  he,  "  for 
my  latther  end 's  approaching.     My  head 's  like  to  split 

—  so  it  is !  —  O  my !  O  my  !  —  ubplsch !  —  ach !  " 
Well,  his  Riv'rence  never  thought  it  worth  his  while 

to  make  him  an  Jinswer;  but,  when  he  seen  how  un- 
gratefully he  was  used,  afther  all  his  tlirouble  in  making 
the  evening  agreeable  to  tlie  ould  man,  he  called  Spring, 
and  put  the  but-end  ov  the  second  bottle  into  his  pocket, 
and  left  the  house  widout  once  wishing  "  Good  night,  an' 
plaisant  dhrames  to  you  "  ;  and,  in  troth,  not  one  of  ihem 
axed  him  to  lave  them  a  lock  ov  liis  hair. 


FATHER   TOM    AND   THE    POPE. 


167 


That 's  the  story  as  I  heard  it  tould :  but  myself  does 
n't  b'lieve  over  one  half  of  it.  Howandiver,  when  all 's 
done,  it 's  a  shame,  so  it  is,  that  he  's  not  a  bishop  this 
blessed  day  and  hour :  for,  next  to  the  goiaut  ov  Saint 
Garlath's,  he  's  out  and  out  the  cleverest  fellow  ov  the 
■whole  jing-baug. 


JOHNNY   DARBYSHIRE. 


BY  WILLIAM  HOWITT. 


OHN  DARBYSHIRE,  or,  according  to  the 
regular  custom  of  the  country,  Johnny  Darby- 
shire,  was  a  farmer  living  in  one  of  the  most 
obscure  parts  of  the  country,  on  the  borders  of  the  Peak 
of  Derbyshire.  His  fathers  before  him  had  occupied 
the  same  farm  for  generations;  and  as  they  had  been 
Quakers  from  the  days  of  George  Tox,  who  preached 
tliere  and  converted  them,  Johnny  also  was  a  Quaker. 
That  is,  he  was,  as  many  others  were,  and  no  doubt  are, 
habitually  a  Quaker.  He  was  a  Quaker  in  dress,  in  lan- 
guage, in  attendance  of  their  meetings,  and,  above  all, 
in  the  unmitigated  contempt  which  he  felt  and  expressed 
for  everything  like  fashion,  for  the  practices  of  the  world, 
for  the  Church,  and  for  music  and  amusements.  There 
never  was  a  man,  from  the  first  to  the  present  day  of 
the  society,  who  so  thoroughly  embodied  and  exhibited 
that  quality  attributed  to  the  Quaker,  in  the  rhyming 
nursery  alphabet,  —  "Q  was  a  Quaker,  and  would  not 
bow  down." 

No,  Johnny  Darby  shire  would  not  have  bowed  down 


JOHNNY   DARBYSHIRE.  169 

to  any  mortal  power.  He  would  have  marched  into  the 
presence  of  the  king  with  his  hat  on,  and  would  have 
addressed  him  with  just  the  same  unembarrassed  free- 
dom as  "The  old  chap  out  of  the  West  Countrie"  is 
made  to  do  in  the  song.  As  to  any  of  the  more  humble 
and  conceding  qualities  usually  attributed  to  the  peace- 
ful Quaker,  Johnny  had  not  an  atom  of  those  about  him. 
Never  was  there  a  more  pig-headed,  arbitrary,  positive, 
pugnacious  fellow.  He  would  argue  anybody  out  of 
their  opinions  by  the  hour;  he  would  "threep  them 
down,"  as  he  called  it,  that  is,  point  blank  and  with  a 
loud  voice  insist  on  his  own  possession  of  the  right,  and 
of  the  sound  common-sense  of  the  matter;  and  if  he 
could  not  convince  them,  would  at  least  confound  them 
with  his  obstreperous  din  and  violence  of  action.  That 
was  what  he  called  clearing  the  field,  and  not  leaving 
his  antagonist  a  leg  to  stand  on.  Having  thus  fairly 
overwhelmed,  dumfoundered,  and  tired  out  some  one 
with  his  noise,  he  would  go  off  in  triumph,  and  say  to 
the  bystanders  as  he  went,  "  There,  lads,  you  see  he 
hadn't  a  word  to  say  for  himself" ;  and  truly  a  clever 
fellow  must  he  have  been  who  could  have  got  a  word 
in  edgeways  when  Johnny  had  once  fairly  got  his  steam 
up,  and  was  shrieking  and  storming  like  a  cat-o'-moun- 
tain. 

Yet  had  anybody  told  Johnny  that  he  was  no  Quaker, 
lie  would  have  "  threeped  them  down "  that  they  did 
not  know  what  a  Quaker  meant.  What !  were  not  his 
father,  and  his  grandfather,  and  his  great-grandfather 
before  him  all  Quakers?  Was  not  he  born  in  the  So- 
ciety, brought  up  in  it  ?    Had  n't  he  attended  first-day, 

VOL.  IX.  8 


170  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

week-day,  preparative,  monthly,  quarterly,  and  some- 
times yearly  meetings  too,  all  his  life?  Had  not  he 
regularly  and  handsomely  subscribed  to  the  monthly, 
and  the  national,  and  the  Ackworth  School  Stocks? 
Had  he  not  been  on  all  sorts  of  appointments ;  to  visit 
new  members,  new  comers  into  the  meeting;  to  warn 
disorderly  walkers ;  nay,  had  he  not  sate  even  on  com- 
mittees in  London  at  yearly  meetings?  Had  he  not 
received  and  travelled  with  ministers  when  they  came 
on  religious  visits  into -these  parts?  Had  he  not  taken 
them  in  his  tax-cart  to  the  next  place,  and  been  once 
upset  in  a  deep  and  dirty  lane  with  a  weighty  minister- 
ing friend,  and  dislocated  his  collar-bone  ? 

What?  He  not  a  Quaker!  Was  George  Fox  one, 
did  they  think;  or  William  Penn,  or  Robert  Barclay, 
indeed  ? 

Johnny  Darbyshire  was  a  Quaker.  He  had  the  dross, 
and  address,  and  all  the  outward  testimonies  and  marks 
of  a  Quaker ;  nay,  he  was  more ;  he  was  an  overseer  of 
the  meeting,  and  broke  up  the  meetings.  Yes,  and  he 
would  have  them  to  know  that  he  executed  his  office 
well.  Ay,  well  indeed;  without  clock  to  look  at,  or 
without  pulling  out  his  watch,  or  being  within  hearing 
of  any  bell,  or  any  other  thing  that  could  guide  him,  he 
would  sit  on  the  front  seat  of  his  meeting  where  not  a 
word  was  spoken,  exactly  for  an  hour  and  three  quarters 
to  a  minute,  and  then  break  it  up  by  shaking  hands  with 
the  Friend  who  sate  next  to  him.  Was  not  that  an 
evidence  of  a  religious  tact  and  practice  ?  And  had 
not  the  Friends  once  when  he  was  away,  just  like  peo- 
ple in  a  ship  which  had  lost  both  rudder  and  compass, 


JOHNNY    DARBYSIIIRE.  171 

gone  drifting  in  unconsciousness  from  ten  in  the  morn- 
ing till  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  would  not  then  have 
known  that  it  was  time  to  break  up  the  meeting,  but 
that  somebody's  servant  was  sent  to  see  what  had  hap- 
pened, and  why  they  did  not  come  home  to  dinner  ? 

Johmiy  could  see  a  sleeper  as  soon  as  any,  were  he 
ensconced  in  the  remotest  and  obscurest  corner  of  the 
meeting,  and  let  him  hold  up  his  head  and  sleep  as  clev- 
erly as  he  might  from  long  habit.  And  did  not  he  once 
give  a  most  notable  piece  of  advice  to  a  rich  Friend  who 
was  a  shocking  sleeper  ?  Was  not  this  Friend  very  ill, 
and  did  n't  Johnny  go  to  see  him ;  and  did  n't  he,  when 
the  Friend  complained  that  he  could  get  no  sleep,  and 
that  not  all  the  physic,  the  strongest  opium  even  of  the 
doctor's  shop,  could  make  him,  —  did  n't  Johnny  Darby- 
shire  say  right  slap-bang  out,  which  not  another  of  the 
plainest-spoken  Friends  dare  have  done  to  a  rich  man 
like  that,  —  "  Stuff  and  nonsense ;  and  a  fig  for  opium 
and  doctor's  stuff,  —  send,  man,  send  for  the  meeting- 
Iiouse  bench,  and  lie  thee  down  on  that,  and  I  'U  be 
bound  thou  'It  sleep  like  one  of  the  seven  sleepers." 

Undoubtedly  Johnny  was  a  Quaker ;  a  right  slap-dash 
Quaker  of  the  old  Foxite  school ;  and  had  anybody  come 
smiling  to  him  in  the  hope  of  getting  anything  out  of 
him,  he  would  have  said  to  him  as  George  Fox  said  to 
Colouel  Hackett,  "Beware  of  hypocrisy  and  a  rotten 
heart ! "  True,  had  you  questioned  him  as  to  his  par- 
ticular religious  doctrines  or  articles  of  faith,  he  woidd 
not  have  been  very  clear,  or  very  ready  to  give  you  any 
explanation  at  all,  for  the  very  best  of  reasons,  —  he  was 
not  so  superstitious  as  to  have  a  creed.     A  creed !  that 


173  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

was  a  rag  of  the  old  woman  of  Babylon.  No,  if  you 
wanted  to  know  all  about  doctrines  and  disputations, 
why,  you  might  look  into  Barclay's  Apology.  There 
was  a  book  big  enough  for  you,  he  should  think.  For 
himself,  like  most  of  his  cloth,  he  would  confine  himself 
to  his  feelings.  He  would  employ  a  variety  of  choice 
and  unique  phrases ;  such  as,  "  If  a  man  want  to 
know  what  religion  is,  he  must  not  go  running  after 
parsons,  and  bishops,  and  all  that  sort  of  man-made 
ministers,  blind  leaders  of  the  blind,  who  can  talk  by 
the  hour,  but  about  what  neither  man,  woman,  nor 
child,  for  the  life  of  them,  can  tell,  except  when  they 
come  for  their  tithes,  or  their  Easter  dues,  and  then 
they  speak  plain  enough  with  a  vengeance.  One  of 
these  Common-Prayer  priests,"  said  he,  "once  came  to 
advise  me  about  the  lawfulness  of  paying  Church-rates, 
and,  instead  of  walking  into  my  parlor,  he  walked  through 
the  next  door,  and  nearly  broke  his  neck,  into  the  cellar. 
A  terrible  stramash  of  a  lumber,  and  a  plunging  and  a 
groaning  we  heard  somewhere ;  and  rushing  out,  lo  and 
behold !  it  was  no  other  than  Diggory  Dyson,  the  parish 
priest,  who  had  gone  hendlong  to  the  bottom  of  the 
cellar  steps,  and  had  he  not  cut  his  temples  against  the 
brass  tap  of  a  beer-barrel  and  bled  freely,  he  inight  have 
died  on  the  spot.  And  that  was  a  man  set  up  to  guide 
the  multitude!  Had  he  been  only  led  and  guided  by 
the  Spirit  of  God,  as  a  true  minister  should  be,  he  would 
never  have  gone  neck-foremost  dowTi  my  cellar  steps. 
That 's  your  blind  leader  of  the  blind  !  " 

But   if  Johnny   Darbyshirc   thouglit  the  "  Common- 
Prayer  priests"  obscure,  they  must  have  thought  him 


JOHNNY    DAEBYSHIRE.  173 

sevenfold  so.  Instead  of  doctrines  and  such  pagan 
things,  he  talked  solemnly  of  "centring  down";  "be- 
ing renewedly  made  sensible  "  ;  "  having  his  mind  drawn 
to  this  and  that  thing " ;  "  feeling  himself  dipped  into 
deep  baptism  " ;  "  feeling  a  sense  of  duty  " ;  and  of 
"  seeing,  or  not  seeing  his  way  clear  "  into  this  or  that 
matter.  But  his  master  phrase  was  "  living  near  to  the 
truth  "  ;  and  often,  when  other  people  thought  him  par- 
ticularly provoking  and  insulting,  it  was  only  "because 
he  hated  a  lie  and  the  father  of  lies."  Johnny  thought 
that  he  hved  so  near  to  the  truth,  that  you  would  have 
thought  Truth  was  his  next-door  neighbor,  or  his  lodger, 
and  not  living  down  at  the  bottom  of  her  well  as  she 
long  has  been. 

Truly  was  that  religious  world  in  which  Johnny  Dar- 
byshire  lived  a  most  singular  one.  In  that  part  of  the 
country,  George  Fox  had  been  particularly  zealous  and 
well  received.  A  simple  country  people  was  just  the 
people  to  be  affected  by  his  warm  eloquence  and  strong 
.  manly  sense.  He  settled  many  meetings  there,  which, 
however,  William  Penn  may  be  said  to  have  unsettled 
by  his  planting  of  Pennsylvania.  These  Friends  flocked 
over  thither  with,  or  after  him,  and  left  a  mere  remnant 
behind  them.  This  remnant  —  and  it  was  like  the  rem- 
nant in  a  draper's  shop,  a  very  old-fashioned  one  —  con- 
tinued still  to  keep  up  their  meetings,  and  carry  on  their 
affairs  as  steadily  and  gravely  as  Fox  and  his  contempo- 
i-aries  did,  if  not  so  extensively  and  successfully.  They 
had  a  meeting  at  Codnor  Breach,  at  Monny-Asli  in  the 
Peak,  at  Pentridge,  at  Toad-hole  Furnace,  at  Chester- 
field, etc.     Most  of  these  places  were  thoroughly  country 


174  LITTLE    C  LASSICS. 

places,  some  of  them  standing  nearly  alone  in  the  distant 
fields ;  and  the  few  members  belonging  to  them  might 
be  seen  on  Sundays,  mounted  on  strong  horses,  a  man 
and  his  wife  often  on  one,  on  saddle  and  pillion,  or  iu 
strong  tax-carts ;  and  others,  generally  the  young,  pro- 
ceeding on  foot  over  fields  and  through  woods,  to  tliese 
meetings.  They  were  truly  an  old-world  race,  clad  in 
very  old-world  garments.  Arrived  at  their  meeting,  they 
sate  generally  an  hour  and  three  quarters  in  ])rofound 
silence,  for  none  of  them  had  a  minister  in  them,  and 
then  returned  again.  In  winter  they  generally  had  a 
good  fire  iu  a  chamber,  and  sate  comfortably  round  it. 

Once  a  month,  they  jogged  off  in  similar  style  to  one 
of  these  meetings  iu  particular,  to  what  they  called  their 
monthly  meeting,  where  they  paid  in  their  subscriptions 
for  the  poor,  and  other  needs  of  the  society,  and  read 
over  and  made  answers  to  a  set  of  queries  on  the  moral 
and  religious  state  of  their  meetings.  One  would  have 
thought  tiiat  this  business  must  be  so  very  small  that  it 
would  be  readily  despatched ;  but  not  so.  Small  enough, 
Heaven  knows !  it  was ;  but  then  they  made  a  religious 
duty  of  its  transaction,  and  went  through  it  as  solemnly 
and  deliberately  as  if  the  very  salvation  of  the  kingdom 
depended  on  it.  O,  what  a  mighty  balancing  of  straws 
was  there !  In  answering  the  query,  whether  their 
meetings  were  pretty  regularly  kept  up  and  attended, 
though  perhaps  there  was  but  half  a  dozen  members  to 
one  meeting,  yet  would  it  be  weighed  and  weighed  again 
whether  the  phrase  should  be,  that  it  Avas  "  pretty  well 
attended,"  or  " indifTcrcntly  attended,"  or  "attended, 
with  some  exceptions."     This  stupendous  business  hav- 


JOHNNY   DARBYSHIRE.  175 

ing,  however,  at  length  been  got  through,  then  all  the 
men  adjourned  to  the  room  where  the  women  had,  for 
the  time,  been  just  as  laboriously  and  gravely  engaged ; 
and  a  table  was  soon  spread  by  a  person  agreed  with, 
with  a  good  substantial  dinner  of  roast-beef  and  plum- 
pudding;  and  the  good  people  grew  right  sociable, 
chatty,  and  even  merry  in  their  way ;  while,  all  the  time 
in  the  adjoining  stable,  or,  as  in  one  case,  in  the  stable 
under  them,  their  steeds,  often  rough,  wild  creatures, 
thrust  perhaps  twenty  into  a  stable  without  dividhig 
stalls,  were  kicking,  squealing,  and  rioting  in  a  manner 
that  obliged  some  of  the  good  people  occasionally  to  rise 
from  their  dinners,  and  endeavor  to  diffuse  a  little  of 
their  own  quietness  among  them.  Or  in  summer  their 
horses  would  be  all  loose  in  the  graveyard  before  the 
meeting,  rearing,  kicking,  and  screaming  in  a  most  fu- 
rious manner;  which,  however,  only  rarely  seemed  to 
disturb  tlie  meditations  of  their  masters  and  mistresses. 

And  to  these  monthly  meetings  over  what  long  and 
dreary  roads,  on  what  dreadfully  wet  and  wintry  days, 
through  what  mud  and  water,  did  these  simple  and 
pious  creatures,  wrapped  in  great-coats  and  thick  cloaks, 
and  defended  with  oil-skin  hoods,  travel  all  their  lives 
long?  Not  a  soul  was  more  punctual  in  attendance 
than  Johnny  Darbyshire.  He  was  a  little  man,  wearing 
a  Quaker  suit  of  drab,  his  coat  long,  his  hat  not  cocked 
but  slouched,  aud  his  boots  well  worn  and  well  greased. 

Peaceful  as  he  sate  in  these  meetings,  yet  out  of  them, 
as  I  have  remarked,  he  was  a  very  Tartar,  and  he  often 
set  himself  to  execute  what  he  deemed  justice  in  a  very 
dogged  and  original  style.     We  may,  as  a  specimen,  take 


176  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

this  instance.  On  his  way  to  his  regular  meeting  he 
had  to  pass'through  a  toll-bar  ;  andbehig  on  Sundays  ex- 
empt by  law  from  paying  at  it,  it  may  be  supi)osed  that 
the  bar-keeper  did  not  fling  open  the  gate  often  with 
the  best  grace.  One  Sunday  evening,  however,  Johnny 
Darbyshire  had,  from  some  cause  or  other,  stayed  late 
with  his  friends  after  afternoon  meeting.  Wlien  he 
passed  througli  the  toll-gate  he  gave  his  usual  nod  to 
the  keeper,  and  was  passing  on;  but  the  man  called 
out  to  demand  the  toll,  declaruig  that  it  was  no  longer 
Sunday  night,  but  Monday  morning,  being  past  twelve 
o'clock. 

"  Nay,  friend,  thou  art  wrong,"  said  Johnny,  pulling 
out  his  watch :  "  see,  it  yet  wants  a  quarter." 

"  No,  I  tell  you,"  replied  the  keeper,  gruffly,  "  it  is 
past  twelve.     Look,  there  is  my  clock." 

"  Ay,  friend,  but  thy  clock,  like  thyself,  does  n't  speak 
the  truth.  Like  its  master,  it  is  a  little  too  hasty.  I 
assure  thee  my  watch  is  right,  for  I  just  now  compared 
it  by  the  steeple-house  clock  in  the  town." 

"  I  tell  you,"  replied  the  keeper,  angrily,  "  I  've 
nothing  to  do  with  your  watch  ;  I  go  by  my  clock,  and 
there  it  is." 

"Well,  I  think  thou  art  too  exact  with  me,  my 
friend." 

"  Will  you  pay  me  or  not  ?  "  roared  the  keeper ; 
"  you  go  through  often  enough  in  the  devil's  name  with- 
out paying." 

"  Gently,  gently,  my  friend,"  replied  Johnny ;  "  there 
is  the  money  :  and  it 's  really  after  twelve  o'clock,  thou 
says  ?  " 


JOHNNY    DARBYSHIRE.  177 

"To  be  sure." 

"Well,  very  well;  then,  for  the  next  twenty -four 
hours  I  can  go  through  agaui  without  paying?" 

"  To  be  sure ;  everybody  knows  that." 

"  Very  well,  then  I  now  bid  thee  farewell."  And 
with  that,  Johnny  Darbyshire  jogged  on.  The  gate- 
keeper, chuckUng  at  having  at  last  extorted  a  double 
toll  from  the  shrewd  Quaker,  went  to  bed,  not  on  that 
quiet  road  expecting  further  disturbance  till  towards 
daylight ;  but,  just  as  he  was  about  to  pop  into  bed,  he 
lieard  some  one  ride  up  and  cry,  "  Gate  !  " 

Internally  cursing  the  late  traveller,  he  threw  on  his 
things  and  descended  to  open  the  gate,  when  he  was 
astonished  to  see  the  Quaker  returned. 

"  Thou  says  it  really  w  past  twelve,  friend  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure."  |^ 

"  Then  open  the  gate :  I  have  occasion  to  ride  back 
again." 

The  gate  flew  open,  Johnny  Darbyshire  trotted  back 
towards  the  town,  and  the  man,  with  double  curses  in 
his  mind,  returned  up  stairs.  This  time  he  was  not  so 
sure  of  exemption  from  interruption,  for  he  expected  the 
Quaker  would  in  a  while  be  coming  back  homewards 
again.  And  he  was  quite  right.  Just  as  he  was  about 
to  put  out  his  candle,  there  was  a  cry  of  "  Gate."  He 
descended,  and  behold  the  Quaker  once  more  presented 
himself. 

"  It  really  is  past  twelve,  thou  says  ?  " 

"  Umph !  "  grunted  the  fellow.  . 

"Then,  of  course,  I  have  nothing  more  to  pay.  I 
would  not,  however,  advise  thee  to  go  to  bed  to-night, 
8*  L 


178  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

for  it  is  so  particularly  fine  that  I  propose  to  enjoy  it  by 
riding  to  and  fro  here  a  few  hours." 

The  fellow,  who  now  saw  Johnny  Darbyshire's  full 
drift,  exclaimed,  "  Here,  for  God's  sake,  sir,  take  your 
money  back,  and  let  me  get  a  wink  of  sleep." 

But  Johnny  refused  to  receive  the  money,  observing, 
"  If  it  was  after  twelve,  then  the  money  is  justly  thine  ; 
but  I  advise  thee  another  time  not  to  be  too  exact." 
And  with  that  he  rode  off. 

Such  was  his  shrewd,  restless,  domineering  character, 
that  his  old  friend,  the  neighboring  miller,  a  shrewd  fel- 
low too,  thought  there  must  be  something  in  Quakerism 
which  contributed  to  this,  and  was  therefore  anxious  to 
attend  their  meetings,  and  see  what  it  was.  How  great, 
however,  was  his  astonishment,  on  accompanying  Johnny, 
to  find  about  half  a  dozen  people  all  sitting  with  their 
hats  on  for  a  couple  of  hours  in  profound  silence ;  except 
a  few  siiufflings  of  feet,  and  blowing  of  noses ;  and  then 
all  start  up,  shake  hands,  and  hurry  off. 

"  Why,  Master  Darbyshire,"  said  the  dry  old  miller, 
"  how  is  this  ?  Do  you  sit  without  parson  or  clerk,  and 
expect  to  learn  religion  by  looking  at  your  shoe-toes  ? 
By  Leddy !  this  war  n't  th'  way  George  Fox  went  on. 
He  was  a  very  talking  man,  or  he  would  na  ha'  got  such 
a  heap  of  folks  together,  as  he  did.  You  've  clearly  got- 
ten o*  th'  wrong  side  o'  th'  post,  Johnny,  depend  on 't ; 
an'  I  dunna  wonder  now  that  you've  dwindled  awee 

80." 

But  if  Johnny  was  as  still  as  a  fish  at  the  Quaker 
meetings,  he  had  enough  to  say  at  home,  and  at  the 
parish  meetings.    He  had  such  a  spice  of  the  tyrant  in 


JOHNiry    DARBYSHIEE.  179 

hiin,  that  he  could  not  even  entertain  the  idea  of  marry- 
ing, without  it  must  be  a  sort  of  shift  for  the  mastery. 
He,  therefore,  not  ouly  cast  Ids  eye  on  one  of  the  most 
high-spirited  women  that  he  knew  in  his  own  society, 
but  actually  one  on  the  largest  scale  of  physical  dimen- 
sions. If  he  had  one  hero  of  his  admiration  more  than 
another,  it  was  a  little  dwarf  at  Mansfield,  who  used  to 
wear  a  soldier's  jacket,  and  who  had  taken  it  into  his 
head  to  marry  a  very  tall  woman,  whom  he  had  reduced 
to  such  perfect  subjection,  that  he  used  from  time  to 
time  to  evince  his  mastery  by  mounting  a  round  table 
and  making  the  wife  walk  round  it  while  lie  belabored 
her  lustily  with  a  strap. 

Johnny,  having  taken  his  resolve,  made  no  circum- 
bendibus in  his  addresses ;  but  one  day,  as  he  was  alone 
in  the  company  of  the  lady,  by  name  Lizzy  Lorimer,  - 
"  Lizzy,"  said  he,  "  I  '11  tell  thee  what  I  have  been  think- 
ing about.     I  think  thou  'd  make  me  a  very  good  wife." 

"  Well,"  replied  Lizzy ;  "  sure,  is  n't  that  extraordi- 
nary ?     I  was  just  thinking  the  very  same  thing." 

"  That 's  right !  Well  done,  my  wench,  —  now  that 's 
what  I  call  hitting  the  nail  on  the  head,  like  a  right  sen- 
sible woman  !  "  cried  Johnny,  fetching  her  a  slap  on  the 
shoulder,  and  laughing  heartily.  "  That 's  doing  the 
thing  now  to  some  tune.  I  'm  for  none  of  your  dilly- 
dally ways.  I  once  knew  a  young  fellow  that  was  des- 
perately smitten  by  a  young  woman,  and  though  he  could 
pluck  up  courage  enough  to  go  and  see  her,  he  could  n't 
summon  courage  enough  to  speak  out  his  mind  when  he 
got  there ;  and  so  he  and  the  damsel  sate  op))osite  one 
another  before  the  fire.     She  knew  well  enough  all  the 


180  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

while  —  you're  sharp  enough,  you  women  —  what  he 
was  after ;  and  there  they  sate  and  sate,  and  at  last  he 
picked  up  a  cuider  off  the  heartli,  and  looking  very  fool- 
ish, said,  '  I  've  a  good  mind  to  fling  a  cowk  at  thee ! ' 
At  which  the  brave  wench,  in  great  contempt,  cried, 
*  I  '11  soon  fling  one  at  thee,  if  thou  art  n't  off ! '  That 's 
just  as  thou  'd  ha'  done,  Lizzy,  and  as  1  shouldn't,"  said 
Johnny,  gayly,  and  laugliing  more  heartily  than  be- 
fore. 

That  was  the  sum  and  substance  of  Johnny  Darby- 
shire's  courtship.  All  the  world  said  the  trouble  would 
come  afterwards ;  but  if  it  did  come,  it  was  not  to  John- 
ny. Never  was  chanticleer  so  crouse  on  his  own  dung- 
hill, as  Johnny  Darbyshire  was  in  his  own  house.  He 
was  lord  and  master  there  to  a  certainty.  In  doors  and 
out,  he  shouted,  hurried,  ran  to  and  fro,  and  made  men, 
maids,  and  Lizzy  herself,  fly  at  liis  approach,  as  if  he  had 
got  a  whole  cargo  of  Mercury's  wings,  and  put  them  on 
their  feet.  It  was  the  same  in  parish  affairs ;  and  the 
fame  of  Johnny's  eloquence  at  vestries  is  loud  to  this 
day.  On  one  occasion  there  was  a  most  hot  debate  on 
the  voting  of  a  churcli-rate,  which  should  embrace  a  new 
pulpit.  Johnny  had  hurt  his  foot  with  a  stub  of  wood  as 
he  was  hurrying  on  his  men  at  work  in  thinning  a  plan- 
tation. It  had  festered  and  inflamed  his  leg  to  a  terrible 
size ;  but,  spite  of  that,  he  ordered  out  his  cart  with  a 
bed  laid  in  it,  and  came  up  to  the  door  of  the  vcstry- 
room,  where  he  caused  himself  to  be  carried  in  on  the  bed, 
and  set  on  the  vestry-room  floor,  not  very  distant  from 
the  clergyman.  Here  lie  waited,  Ustening  first  to  one 
speaker  and  then  another,  till  the  debate  had  grown  very 


JOHNNY   DARBYSniRE.  181 

loud,  when  he  gave  a  great  hem ;  and  all  were  silent, 
for  every  one  knew  that  Johnny  was  going  to  speak. 

"  Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what,  lads,"  said  Johnny  ;  "  you  've 
made  noise  enough  to  frighten  all  the  jackdaws  out 
of  the  steeple,  and  there  they  are  flying  all  about  with  a 
pretty  cawarring.  You  've  spun  a  yarn  as  long  as  all 
the  posts  and  rails  round  my  seven  acres,  and  I  dunna 
see  as  you  've  yet  hedged  in  so  much  as  th'  owd  wise 
men  o'  Gotham  did,  and  that 's  a  cuckoo.  I  've  heard 
just  one  sensible  word,  and  that  was  to  recommend  a 
cast-iron  pulpit,  in  preference  to  a  wooden  'un.  As  to  a 
church-rate  to  repair  th'  owd  steeple-house,  why,  my  ad- 
vice is  to  pull  th'  owd  thing  down,  stick  and  stone,  and 
mend  your  roads  with  it.  It 's  a  capital  heap  o'  stone  in 
it,  that  one  must  allow,  —  and  your  roads  are  pestilent 
bad.  Down  with  the  old  daw-house,  I  say,  and  mend 
th'  roads  wi'  't,  and  set  th'  parson  here  up  for  a  guide- 
post.  Oh  !  it 's  a  rare  'un  he  'd  make  ;  for  he 's  always 
pointing  th'  way  to  the  folks,  but  I  never  see  that  he 
moves  one  inch  himself." 

"Mr.  Darbyshire,"  exclaimed  the  clergyman,  in  high 
resentment,  "  that  is  very  uncivil  in  my  presence,  to  say 
the  least  of  it." 

"  Civil  or  uncivil,"  returned  Johnny  ;  "  it 's  the  truth, 
lad,  and  thou  can  take  it  just  as  thou  Ukes.  I  did  not 
come  here  to  bandy  compliments ;  so  I  may  as  well  be 
hanged  for  an  old  sheep  as  for  a  lamb,  — we  '11  not  make 
two  mouthfuls  of  a  cherry ;  my  advice  is  then  to  have  a 
cast-iron  pulpit,  by  all  means,  and  while  you  are  abont 
it,  a  cast-iron  parson,  too.  It  will  do  just  as  well  as  our 
neighbor  Diggory  Dyson  here,  and  a  plaguy  deal  cheai)er. 


182  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

for  it  will  require  neither  tithes,  glebe,  Easter-dues,  nor 
church-rates ! " 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  remarkable  oration, 
to  the  great  amusement  of  his  fellow-parishioners,  and 
the  equal  exasperation  of  the  clergyman,  Jolniny  ordered 
himself  to  be  again  hoisted  into  his  cart,  and  rode  home 
in  great  glory,  boasting  that  he  had  knocked  all  the  wind 
out  of  the  parson,  and  if  he  got  enough  again  to  preach 
his  sermon  on  Sunday,  it  would  be  all. 

It  was  only  on  such  occasions  as  these  that  Johnny  Dar- 
byshire  ever  appeared  under  the  church  roof.  Once,  on 
the  occasion  of  the  funeral  of  an  old  neiglibor,  wliich,  for 
a  wonder,  he  attended,  he  presented  himself  there,  but  with 
as  little  satisfaction  to  tlie  clergyman,  and  less  to  himself. 

He  just  marched  into  the  church  with  his  hat  on, 
which,  being  removed  by  the  clergyman's  orders,  Jolmny 
declared  that  lie  had  a  good  mind  to  walk  put  of  that 
well  of  a  place,  and  would  do  so  only  out  of  respect  to 
his  old  neighbor.  With  looks  of  great  wratli  he  seated 
himself  at  a  good  distance  from  the  clergyman ;  and  as 
this  gentleman  was  proceeding,  in  none  of  the  clearest 
tones,  certainly,  to  read  the  appropriate  service,  Johnny 
suddenly  shouted  out,  "  Speak  up,  man,  speak  up ! 
What  art  mumbling  at  there,  man  ?  We  canna  hear 
what  thou  says  here  !  " 

"  Wlio  is  that  ?  "  demanded  the  clergyman,  solemnly, 
and  looking  much  as  if  he  did  not  clearly  perceive  who 
it  was.  "  Wlio  is  that  who  interrupts  the  service?  I 
will  not  proceed  till  he  be  removed." 

The  beadle  approached  Johnny,  and  begged  that  he 
would  withdraw. 


JOHNNY    DARBYSHIRE.  183 

"  Oh !  "  said  Johnny,  aloud,  so  as  to  be  heard  through 
all  the  church,  "  I  '11  sit  i'  th'  porch.  I  'd  much  rather. 
What 's  the  use  sittmg  here  where  one  can  hear  nothing 
but  a  buzzing  like  a  bee  in  a  blossom  j*  " 

Johnny  accordingly  withdrew  to  the  porch,  where 
some  of  his  neighbors,  hurrying  to  Mm  when  the  funeral 
was  about  to  proceed  from  the  church  to  the  grave,  said, 
"  Mr.  Darbyshire,  what  have  you  done  i*  You  '11  as 
surely  be  put  into  th'  spiritual  court,  as  you  're  a  living 
man.  You  'd  better  ax  the  parson's  pardon,  and  as  soon 
as  you  can." 

Accordingly,  as  soon  as  the  funeral  was  over,  and  the 
clergyman  was  about  to  withdraw,  up  marched  Johnny 
to  him,  and  said,  "  What,  I  reckon  I  've  affronted  thee 
with  bidding  thee  speak  up.  But  thou  should  speak  up, 
man ;  thou  should  speak  up,  or  what  art  perciied  up 
aloft  there  for.  But,  however,  as  you  scollards  are 
rayther  testy,  I  know,  in  being  taken  up  before  folks,  I 
mun  beg  thy  pardon  for  't'arno."  * 

"  O,  Mr.  Darbyshire,"  said  the  clergyman,  with  much 
dignity,  "  that  will  not  do,  I  assure  you.  I  cannot  pass 
over  such  conduct  in  such  a  manner.  I  shall  take 
another  course  with  you." 

"  0,  just  as  tha'  woot.  I  've  axed  thy  pardon,  have 
n't  I  ?  and  if  that  wunna  do,  why,  thou  mun  please  thy- 
sen!" 

Johnny  actually  appeared  very  Ukely  to  get  a  proper 
castigation  this  time ;  but,  however  it  was,  he  certainly 
escaped.     The  parishioners  advised  the  clergyman  to 

*  For  what  I  know. 


184  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

take  no  notice  of  tlie  offence,  —  everybody,  they  said, 
knew  Johnny,  and  if  he  called  him  into  the  spiritual 
court,  he  would  be  just  as  bold  and  saucy,  and  might 
raise  a  good  deal  of  public  scandal.  The  clergyman, 
who,  unfortunately,  was  but  like  too  many  country 
clergymen  of  the  time,  addicted  to  a  merry  glass  in  the 
village  public-house,  thought  perhaps  that  this  was  only 
too  likely,  and  so  the  matter  dropped. 

For  twenty  years  did  Johnny  Darbyshire  thus  give 
free  scope  to  tongue  and  hand  in  his  parish.  He  ruled 
paramount  over  wife,  children,  house,  servants,  parish, 
and  everybody.  He  made  work  go  on  like  the  flying 
clouds  of  March ;  and  at  fair  and  market,  at  meeting  and 
vestry,  he  had  his  fling  and  his  banter  at  the  expense  of 
his  neighbors,  as  if  the  world  was  all  his  own,  and  would 
never  come  to  an  end.  But  now  came  an  event,  arising, 
as  so  often  is  the  case,  out  of  the  merest  trifle,  that  more 
than  all  exhibited  the  indomitable  stiffness  and  obstinacy 
of  his  character. 

Johnny  Darbyshire  had  some  fine,  rich  meadow-land, 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  Derwent,  where  he  took  in 
cattle  and  horses  to  graze  during  the  summer.  Hither  a 
gentleman  had  sent  a  favorite  and  valuable  blood  mare 
to  run  a  few  months  with  her  foal.  He  had  stipulated 
that  the  greatest  care  should  be  taken  of  both  mare  and 
foal,  and  that  no  one,  on  any  pretence  whatever,  should 
mount  the  former.  All  this  Johnny  Darbyshire  had  most 
fully  promised.  "  Nay,  he  was  as  fond  of  a  good  bit  of 
liorse-flesh  as  any  man  alive,  and  he  would  use  mare  and 
foal  just  as  if  they  were  his  own." 

This  assurance,  which  sounded  very  well  indeed,  was 


JOHNNY    DARBYSHIHE.  185 

kept  by  Johnny,  as  it  proved,  much  more  to  tlie  letter 
than  the  gentleman  intended.  To  his  great  astonish- 
ment, it  was  not  long  before  he  one  day  saw  Johnny 
Darbysliire  come  riding  on  a  little  shaggy  horse  down 
the  village  where  he  lived,  leading  the  foal  in  a  halter. 

He  hurried  out  to  inquire  the  cause  of  this,  too  well 
auguring  some  sad  miscliief,  when  Johnny,  shaking  his 
head,  said,  "  111  luck,  my  friend,  never  comes  alone ; 
it 's  an  old  saying,  that  it  never  rains  but  it  pours  ;  and 
so  it 's  been  with  me.  T'  other  day  I  'd  a  son  drowned, 
as  fine  a  lad  as  ever  walked  in  shoe-leather ;  and  in  hur- 
rying to  th'  doctor,  how  should  luck  have  it,  but  down 
comes  th'  mare  with  her  foot  in  a  hole,  breaks  her  leg, 
and  was  obligated  to  be  killed ;  and  here  's  th'  poor  inno- 
cent foal.  It 's  a  bad  job,  a  very  bad  job  ;  but  I  've  the 
worst  on  't,  and  it  canna  be  helped ;  so,  prithee,  say  as 
little  as  thou  can  about  it,  —  here  's  the  foal,  poor,  dumb 
thing,  at  all  events." 

"  But  what  business,"  cried  the  gentleman,  enraged, 
and  caring,  in  his  wrath,  not  a  button  for  Johnny  Darby- 
shire's  drowned  son,  in  the  exasperation  of  his  own  loss, 
—  "but  what  business  had  you  riding  to  the  doctor,  or 
the  devil,  on  my  mare  ?  Did  not  I  enjoin  you,  did  you 
not  solenmly  promise  me,  that  nobody  should  cross  the 
mare's  back  ?  " 

Johnny  shook  his  head.  He  had  indeed  promised  "to 
use  her  as  his  own,"  and  he  had  done  it  to  some  pur- 
pose ;  but  that  was  little  likely  to  throw  cold  water  on 
the  gentleman's  fire.  It  was  in  vain  that  Johnny  tried 
the  pathetic  of  the  drowning  boy  ;  it  was  lost  on  the  man 
who  had  lost  his  favorite  mare,  and  who  declared  that  he 


186  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

would  rather  have  lost  a  thousand  pounds,  —  a  hundred 
was  exactly  her  value,  —  and  he  vowed  all  sorts  of  ven- 
geance and  of  law. 

And  he  kept  his  word  too.  Johnny  was  deaf  to  pay- 
ing for  the  mare.  He  had  lost  his  boy,  and  his  summer's 
run  of  the  mare  and  foal,  and  that  he  thought  enough 
for  a  poor  man  like  him,  as  he  pleased  to  call  himself. 
An  action  was  commenced  against  him,  of  which  he  took 
not  the  slightest  notice  till  it  came  into  court.  These 
lawyers,  he  said,  were  dear  chaps,  he  'd  have  nothing  to 
do  with  them.  But  the  lawyers  were  determined  to  have 
to  do  with  him,  for  they  imagined  tliat  the  Quaker  had 
a  deep  purse,  and  they  longed  to  be  poking  their  long, 
jewelled  fingers  to  the  bottom  of  it. 

The  cause  actually  came  into  court  at  the  assizes,  and 
the  counsel  for  the  plaintiff  got  up  and  stated  the  case, 
offering  to  call  his  evidence,  but  first  submitted  that  he 
could  not  find  that  any  one  was  retained  on  behalf  of 
the  defendant,  and  that,  therefore,  he  probably  meant  to 
suffer  the  cause  to  go  by  default.  The  court  inquired 
whether  any  counsel  at  the  bar  was  instructed  to  appear 
for  Darbyshire,  in  the  case  Shiifnal  v.  Darbysliire,  but 
there  was  no  reply ;  and  leanied  gentlemen  looked  at  one 
another,  and  all  shook  their  learned  wigs ;  and  tlie  judge 
was  about  to  declare  that  the  cause  was  forfeited  by  the 
defendant,  John  Darbyshire,  by  non-appearauce  at  the 
place  of  trial,  when  there  was  seen  a  bustle  near  the  box 
of  the  clerk  of  the  court ;  there  was  a  hasty  plucking  off 
of  a  large  hat,  which  somebody  had  apparently  walked 
into  court  with  on ;  and  the  moment  afterwards  a  short 
man,  in  a  Quaker  dress,  with  his  grizzled  hair  hanging 


JOHNNY    DABBYSHIEE.  187 

in  long  locks  on  his  shoulders,  and  smoothed  close  down 
on  the  forehead,  stepped,  with  a  peculiar  air  of  confi- 
dence and  cunning,  up  to  the  bar.  His  tawny,  sunburnt 
features,  and  small  dark  eyes,  twinkling  with  an  expres- 
sion of  much  country  subtlety,  proclaimed  him  at  once 
a  character.  At  once  a  score  of  voices  murmured,  — 
"There's  Johnny  Darbysliire  himself!" 

He  glanced,  with  a  quick  and  peculiar  look,  at  the 
counsel,  sitting  at  their  table  with  their  papers  before 
them,  who,  on  tiieir  part,  did  not  fail  to  return  his  sur- 
vey with  a  stare  of  mixed  wonder  and  amazement.  You 
could  see  it  as  plainly  as  possible  written  on  their  faces, 
—  "  Wiio  have  we  got  here  ?  There  is  some  fun  brew- 
ing here,  to  a  certainty." 

But  Johnny  raised  his  eyes  from  them  to  the  bench, 
where  sat  the  judge,  and  sent  them  rapidly  thence  to  the 
jury-box,  where  they  seemed  to  rest  with  a  considerable 
satisfaction. 

"Is  this  a  witness?"  inquired  the  judge.  "If  so, 
what  is  he  doing  there,  or  why  does  he  appear  at  all, 
till  we  know  whether  the  cause  is  to  be  defended  ?  " 

"  Ay,  Lord  Judge,  as  they  call  thee,  I  reckon  I  am  a 
witness,  and  the  best  witness  too,  that  can  be  had  in  the 
case,  for  I'm  the  man  himself;  I'm  John  Darbyshire. 
I  did  n't  mean  to  have  anything  to  do  with  these  chaps  i* 
their  wigs  and  gowns,  with  their  long,  dangling  sleeves ; 
and  I  dunna  yet  mean  to  have  anything  to  do  wi'  'era. 
But  I  just  heard  one  of  'em  tell  thee,  that  this  cause 
was  not  going  io  be  defended ;  and  that  put  ray  monkey 
up,  and  so,  thinks  I,  I  '11  e'en  up  and  tell  'em  that  it  will 
be  defended  though ;  ay,  and  I  reckon  it  will  too ;  John- 


188  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

ny  Darbyshire  was  never  yet  afraid  of  tlie  face  of  any 
man,  or  any  set  of  men." 

"If  you  are  what  you  say,  good  man,"  said  the  judge, 
"  defendant  in  this  case,  you  had  better  appoint  counsel 
to  state  it  for  you." 

"Nay,  nay,  Lord  Judge,  as  they  call  thee,  —  hold  a 
bit;  I  know  better  than  that.  Catch  Johnny  Darby- 
shire at  flmging  his  money  into  a  lawyer's  bag!  No, 
no.  I  know  them  chaps  wi'  wigs  well  enough.  They  've 
tongues  as  long  as  a  besom's  teal,  and  fingers  as  long  to 
poke  after  'em.  Nay,  nay,  I  don't  get  my  money  so 
easUy  as  to  let  them  scrape  it  up  by  armfuls.  I  've 
worked  early  and  late,  in  heat  and  cold,  for  my  bit  o' 
money,  and  long  enough  too,  before  these  smart  chaps 
had  left  their  mother's  apron-strings ;  and  let  them  catch 
a  coin  of  it,  if  they  can.  No !  I  know  this  case  better 
than  any  other  man  can,  and  for  why  ?  Because  I  was 
in  it.  It  was  me  that  had  the  mare  to  summer ;  it  was 
me  that  rode  her  to  the  doctor ;  I  was  in  at  th'  breaking 
of  th'  leg,  and,  for  that  reason,  I  can  tell  you  exactly 
how  it  all  happened.  And  what 's  any  of  those  coun- 
sellors, —  sharp,  and  fine,  and  knowing  as  they  look, 
with  their  tails  and  their  powder,  —  what  are  they  to 
know  about  the  matter,  except  what  somebody  'd  have 
to  tell  'em  first  ?  I  tell  you,  I  saw  it,  I  did  it,  and  so 
there  needs  no  twice  telling  of  the  story." 

"  But  are  you  going  to  produce  evidence  ?  "  inquired 
the  counsel  for  the  other  side. 

"  Evidence  ?  to  be  sure  I  am.  What  does  the  chap 
mean?  Evidence?  why,  I'm  defender  and  evidence 
and  aU!" 


JOHNNY    DARBYSHIRE.  189 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  merriinent  in  the  court,  and 
at  the  bar,  in  which  the  judge  hiniself  joined. 

"  There  wants  no  evidence  besides  me ;  for,  as  I  tell 
you,  I  did  it,  and  I  'ra  not  going  to  deny  it." 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  the  judge ;  "  this  is  singular.  If  Mr. 
Darbyshire  means  to  plead  his  own  cause,  and  to  include 
in  it  his  evidence,  he  must  be  sworn.  Let  the  oath  be 
administered  to  him." 

"  Nay,  I  reckon  thou  need  put  none  of  thy  oaths  to 
me!  My  father  never  brought  me  up  to  cursing  and 
swearing,  and  such  like  wickedness.  He  left  that  to 
th'  ragamuffins  and  rapscallions  i'  th'  street.  I  'm  no 
swearer,  nor  liar  neither,  —  thou  may  take  my  word  safe 
enough." 

"  Let  him  take  his  affirmation,  if  he  be  a  member  of 
the  Society  of  Friends." 

"  Ay,  now  thou  speaks  sense,  Lord  Judge.  Ay,  I  'ni 
a  member,  I  warrant  me." 

The  clerk  of  the  court  here  took  his  affirmation,  and 
then  Johnny  proceeded. 

"  Well,  I. don't  feel  myself  any  better  or  any  bonester 
now  for  making  that  affirmation.  I  was  just  going  to 
tell  the  plain  truth  before,  and  I  can  only  tell  th'  same 
now.  And,  as  I  said,  I  'm  not  going  to  deny  what  I  've 
done.  No  !  Johnny  Darbyshire  's  not  the  man  that  ever 
did  a  thing  and  then  denied  it.  Can  any  of  these  chaps 
i'  th'  wigs  say  as  much  ?  Ay,  now  I  reckon,"  added  he, 
shaking  his  head  archly  at  the  gentlemen  of  the  bar, 
"  now  I  reckon  you  'd  like,  a  good  many  on  you  there, 
to  be  denying  this  thing  stoutly  for  me  ?  You  'd  soon 
persuade  a  good  many  simple  folks  here  that  I  never  did 


wo  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

ride  the   mare,  never  broke   her  leg,  nay,  never  saw 
her  that  day  at  all.     Wouldn't  you,  now?   wouldn't 


you 


v». 


Here  the  laughter,  on  all  sides,  was  loudly  renewed. 

"  But  I  '11  take  precious  good  care  ye  dunna  !  No, 
no  !  that 's  the  very  thing  that  I  've  stepped  up  here  for. 
It 's  to  keep  your  consciences  clear  of  a  few  more  addi- 
tional lies.  O  dear !  I  'm  quite  grieved  for  you,  when  I 
think  what  falsities  and  deceit  you  '11  one  day  have  to 
answer  for,  as  it  is." 

The  gentlemen,  tlms  complimented,  appeared  to  enjoy 
the  satire  of  Jolniny  Darbysliire ;  and  still  more  was  it 
relished  in  the  body  of  the  court. 

But  again  remarked  the  judge,  "  Mr.  Darbyshire,  I 
advise  you  to  leave  the  counsel  for  the  plaintiff  to  prove 
his  case  against  you." 

"  I  'st  niver  oss !  "  exclaimed  Johnny,  with  indigna- 
tion. 

"  I  'st  niver  oss  !  "  repeated  the  judge.  "  What  does 
he  mean?  —  I  don't  understand  him."  And  he  looked 
inqiuringly  at  the  bar. 

"  He  means,"  my  lord,  said  a  young  counsel,  "  that 
he  shall  never  offer,  —  never  attempt  to  do  so." 

"  That 's  a  Darbyshire  chap  now,"  said  Jolnniy,  turn- 
ing confidentially  towards  the  jury-box,  where  he  saw 
some  of  his  county  farmers.  "  He  understands  good 
English." 

"  But,  good  neighbors  there,"  added  he,  addressing  the 
jury,  "  for  I  reckon  it 's  you  that  I  must  talk  to  on  this 
business ;  I  'in  glad  to  see  that  you  are,  a  good  many  on 
you,  farmers  Uke  myself,  and  so  up  to  these  things.     To 


JOHNNY    DARBYSHIRE.  191 

make  a  short  matter  of  it,  then,  —  I  had  the  mare  and 
foal  to  summer ;  and  the  gentleman  laid  it  down,  strong 
and  fast,  that  she  should  n't  be  ridden  by  anybody. 
And  I  promised  him  that  I  would  do  my  best,  that  no- 
body should  ride  her.  I  told  him  that  I  would  use  her 
just  as  if  she  was  my  own,  —  and  I  meant  it.  I  meant 
to  do  the  handsome  by  her  and  her  master  too ;  for  I 
need  n't  tell  you  that  I  'm  too  fond  of  a  bit  of  good 
blood  to  see  it  willingly  come  to  any  harm.  Nay,  nay, 
that  never  was  the  way  of  Johnny  Darbyshire.  And 
there  she  was,  the  pretty  creature,  with  her  handsome 
foal  cantering  and  capering  round  her  in  the  meadow ;  it 
was  a  pleasure  to  see  it,  it  was  indeed  !  And  often  have 
I  stood  and  leaned  over  the  gate  and  watched  them,  till 
I  felt  a'most  as  fond  of  them  as  of  my  own  children; 
and  never  would  leg  have  crossed  her  while  she  was  iu 
my  possession  had  that  not  happened  that  may  happen 
to  any  man,  when  he  least  expects  it. 

"My  wife  had  been  ill,  very  ill.  My  poor  Lizzy,  I 
thought  I  should  ha'  certainly  lost  her.  The  doctors 
said  she  must  be  kept  quiet  in  bed  ;  if  she  stirred  for  five 
days  she  was  a  lost  woman.  Well,  one  afternoon  as  I 
was  cutting  a  bit  o'  grass  at  th'  bottom  o'  th'  orchard 
for  the  osses,  again  they  came  from  ploughing  the  fal- 
lows, I  heard  a  shriek  that  went  through  me  like  a  bag- 
gonet.  Down  I  flings  th'  scythe.  *  That 's  Lizzy,  and 
no  other ! '  I  shouted  to  myself.  *  She  's  out  of  bed,  — 
and,  goodness !  what  can  it  be  ?  She  's  ten  to  one  gone 
mad  with  a  brain  fever ! '  There  seemed  to  have  fallen 
ten  thousand  millstones  on  my  heart.  I  tried  to  run, 
but  I  could  n't.     1  was  as  cold  as  ice.     I  was  as  fast 


192  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

rooted  to  the  ground  as  a  tree.  There  was  another  shriek 
more  piercing  than  before  —  and  I  was  off  like  an  arrow 
from  a  bow  —  I  was  loose  then.  I  was  all  on  fire.  I 
ran  like  a  madman  tUl  I  came  within  sight  of  th'  house ; 
and  there  I  saw  Lizzy  in  her  nightgown  with  half  her 
body  out  of  the  window,  shrieking  and  wringing  her 
hands  like  any  crazed  body. 

" '  Stop  !  stop  ! '  I  cried,  '  Lizzy  !  Lizzy  !  back  !  back ! 
for  Heaven's  sake  ! ' 

"  '  There  !  there  ! '  screamed  she,  pointing  with  staring 
eyes  and  ghastly  face  down  into  the  Darrant  that  runs 
under  the  windows. 

'"  O  God ! '  I  exclaimed, '  she  '11  drown  herself!  she 's 
crazed,  she  means  to  fling  herself  in*  —  groaning  as  I 
ran,  and  trying  to  keep  crying  to  her,  but  my  voice  was 
dead  in  my  throat. 

"  When  I  reached  her  chamber,  I  found  her  fallen  on 
the  floor,  —  she  was  as  white  as  a  ghost,  and  sure  enough 
I  thought  she  was  one.  I  lifted  her  upon  the  bed,  and 
screamed  amain  for  the  nurse,  for  the  maid,  but  not  a 
soul  came.  I  rubbed  Lizzy's  hands ;  clapped  them ; 
tried  her  smelling-bottle.  At  length  she  came  to  herself 
with  a  dreadful  groan,  —  flashed  open  her  eyes  wide  on 
nie,  and  cried,  '  Didst  see  him  ?  Didst  save  him  ? 
"Where  is  he  ?    Where  is  he  ?  ' 

"  '  Merciful  Providence ! '  I  exclaimed.  '  She 's  gone 
only  too  sure !     It 's  all  over  with  her  ! ' 

"  *  Where  is  he  ?  Where  's  my  dear  Sam  ?  Thou 
did  n't  let  him  drown  ? ' 

"'Drown?  Sam?  What?'  I  cried.  'What  dost 
mean,  Lizzy  ? ' 


JOHNNY    DARBYSHIRE.  193 

"  '  0  John !  Sammy !  —  he  was  drowning  i'  th'  Dar- 
rant  —  oh  !  — ' 

"  She  fainted  away  again,  and  a  dreadful  truth  flashed 
on  my  mind.  She  had  seen  our  little  Sammy  drowning ; 
she  had  heard  his  screams,  and  sprung  out  of  bed,  for- 
getful of  herself,  and  looking  out,  saw  our  precious  boy 
in  the  water.  He  was  sinking !  He  cried  for  help ! 
there  was  nobody  near,  and  there  Lizzy  stood  and  saw 
him  going,  going,  going  down  !  There  was  not  a  soul 
in  the  house.  The  maid  was  gone  to  see  her  mother 
that  was  dying  in  the  next  village ;  the  nurse  had  been 
suddenly  obliged  to  nxn  off  to  the  doctor's  for  some 
physic ;  Lizzy  had  promised  to  lie  still  till  I  came  in,  and 
in  the  mean  time  —  this  happens.  When  I  understood 
her  I  flew  do%Tn  stairs,  and  towards  the  part  of  the  river 
she  had  pointed  to.  I  gazed  here  and  there,  and  at 
length  caught  sight  of  the  poor  boy's  coat  floating,  and 
with  a  rake  I  caught  hold  of  it,  and  dragged  him  to  land. 
But  it  was  too  late !  Frantic,  however,  as  I  was,  I  flew 
down  to  the  meadow  with  a  bridle  in  my  hand,  mounted 
the  blood  mare,  —  she  was  the  fleetest  in  the  field  by 
half,  — and  away  to  the  doctor.  We  went  like  the  wind. 
T  took  a  short  cut  for  better  speed,  but  it  was  a  hobbly 
road.  Just  as  I  came  in  sight  of  the  doctor's  house  there 
was  a  slough  that  had  been  mended  with  stones  and 
fagots  and  anything  that  came  to  hand.  I  pushed  her 
over,  but  her  foot  caught  in  a  hole  amongst  the  sticks, 
and  —  crack !  it  was  over  in  a  moment. 

"  Neighbors,  neighbors !  think  of  my  situation.  Think 
of  my  feelings.  Oh !  I  was  all  one  great  groan !  My 
wife !  my  boy !  the  mare !  it  seemed  as  if  Job's  devil 

VOL.  IX.  9  M 


194  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

was  really  sent  out  against  me.  But  there  was  no  time 
to  think ;  I  could  only  feel,  and  I  could  do  that  ruiniing. 
I  sprang  over  tlie  hedge.  I  was  across  tiie  fields,  and  at 
the  doctor's ;  ay,  long  before  I  could  find  breath  to  tell 
him  what  was  amiss.  But  he  thought  it  was  my  wife 
that  was  dreadfully  worse.  '  I  expected  as  much,'  said 
he,  and  that  instant  we  were  in  the  gig  that  stood  at  the 
door,  and  we  were  going  like  fire  back  again.    But —  " 

Here  Johnny  Darbyshire  paused ;  the  words  stuck 
in  his  throat,  —  his  lips  trembled,  —  his  face  gradually 
grew  pale  and  livid,  as  if  he  were  going  to  give  up  the 
ghost.  The  court  was  extremely  moved :  tlicre  was  a 
deep  silence,  and  there  were  lieard  sobs  from  the  throng 
behind.  The  judge  sate  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  liis  book 
of  minutes,  and  not  a  voice  even  said  "  Go  on." 

Johnny  Darbyshire  meantime,  overcome  by  his  feelings, 
had  sate  down  at  tlie  bar,  a  glass  of  water  was  handed 
to  him,  —  lie  wiped  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief 
several  times,  heaved  a  heavy  convulsive  sigh  or  two 
from  his  laboring  chest,  —  and  again  arose. 

"Judge,  then,"  said  he,  again  addressing  the  juiy, 
"  what  a  taking  I  was  in.  My  boy  —  but  no  —  I  canua 
touch  on  that,  he  was  —  gone  !  "  said  he  in  a  husky  voice 
that  seemed  to  require  all  his  physical  force  to  send  it 
from  the  bottom  of  his  chest.  "  My  wife  was  for  weeks 
■worse  than  dead,  and  never  has  been,  and  never  will  be, 
herself  again.  When  I  inquired  after  the  mare,  —  you 
can  guess  —  when  was  a  broken  leg  of  a  horse  success- 
fully set  again  ?    They  had  been  obliged  to  kill  her ! 

"Now,  neighbors,  I  deny  nothing.  I  wunna  ! — but 
I  '11  put  it  to  any  of  you,  if  you  were  in  like  case,  and 


JOHNNY    DAEBYSHIRE.  195 

a  fleet  mare  stood  ready  at  hand,  would  you  have  weighed 
anything  but  her  speed  against  a  wife  and  —  a  child  ?  — 
No,  had  she  been  my  own,  1  should  have  taken  her,  and 
that  was  all  I  had  promised !  But  there,  neighbors,  you 
have  the  whole  busmess,  —  and  so  do  just  as  you  like, 
—  I  leave  it  wi'  you." 

Johnny  Darbyshire  stepped  down  from  the  bar,  and 
disappeared  in  the  crowd.  There  was  a  deep  silence  in 
the  court,  and  the  very  jury  were  seen  dasliing  some 
drops  from  their  eyes.  They  appeared  to  look  up  to  the 
judge  as  if  they  were  ready  to  give  in  at  once  their  ver- 
dict, and  nobody  could  doubt  for  which  party ;  but  at 
this  moment  the  counsel  for  the  plaintiff  arose,  and 
said :  — 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  —  you  know  the  old  saying 
— '  He  that  pleads  his  own  cause  has  a  fool  for  his  cli- 
ent.' We  cannot  say  that  the  proverb  has  held  good  in 
this  case.  Tiie  defendant  has  proved  himself  no  fool. 
Never  in  my  life  have  I  listened  to  the  pleadings  of  an 
opponent  with  deeper  anxiety.  Nature  and  the  awful 
chances  of  life  have  made  the  defendant  in  this  case  more 
than  eloquent.  For  a  moment  I  actually  trembled  for 
the  cause  of  my  client,  —  but  it  was  for  a  moment  only. 
I  should  have  been  something  less  than  human  if  I  had 
not,  like  every  person  in  this  court,  been  strangely  af- 
fected by  the  singular  appeal  of  the  singular  man  who 
has  just  addressed  you ;  but  I  should  have  been  some- 
thing less  than  a  good  lawyer  if  I  did  not  again  revert 
confidently  to  those  facts  which  were  in  the  possession 
of  my  witnesses  now  waiting  to  be  heard.  Had  this 
been  the  only  instance  in  which  the  defendant  had  broken 


196  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

liis  engagement,  and  mounted  this  mare,  I  should  in  my 
own  mind  have  flung  ofl"  all  hope  of  a  verdict  from  you. 
God  and  nature  would  have  been  too  strong  for  me  in 
your  liearts ;  but,  fortunately  for  my  client,  it  is  not  so. 
1  will  show  you  on  the  most  unquestionable  evidence 
that  it  was  not  the  first  nor  the  second  time  that  Mr. 
Darbyshire  had  mounted  this  prohibited  but  tempting 
steed.  He  had  been  seen,  as  one  of  the  witnesses  ex- 
presses it,  '  frisking  about '  on  this  beautiful  animal,  and 
asking  his  neighbors  what  they  thought  of  such  a  bit  of 
blood  as  that.  He  had  on  one  occasion  been  as  far  as 
Crich  fair  with  her,  and  had  allowed  her  to  be  cheapened 
by  several  dealers  as  if  she  were  his  own,  and  then  proudly 
rode  off,  saying,  '  Nay,  nay,  it  was  not  money  that  would 
purchase  pretty  Nancy,'  as  he  called  her."  Here  the 
counsel  called  several  respectable  farmers  who  amply 
corroborated  these  statements ;  and  lie  then  proceeded. 
"  Gentlemen,  there  I  rest  my  case.  You  will  forget  the 
■wife  and  the  child,  and  call  to  mind  the  '  frisking,'  and 
Crich  fair.  But  to  put  the  matter  beyond  a  doubt  we 
will  call  the  defendant  again,  and  put  a  few  questions  to 
him." 

The  court  crier  called,  —  but  it  was  in  vain.  Johnny 
Darbyshire  was  no  longer  there.  As  he  had  said,  "  he 
had  left  it  wi'  'em,"  and  was  gone.  The  weight  of  evi- 
dence prevailed  ;  the  jury  gave  a  verdict  for  the  plaintiff, 
—  one  hundred  pounds. 

The  verdict  was  given,  but  the  money  was  not  yet  got. 
When  called  on  for  payment,  Johnny  Darbyshire  took  no 
further  notice  of  the  demand  than  he  had  done  of  the 
action.    An  execution  was  issued  against  his  goods ;  but 


JOHNNY    DARBYSHIRE.  197 

when  it  was  served,  it  was  found  that  ho  had  no  goods. 
A  brother  stepped  in  with  a  clear  title  to  all  on  Johnny's 
farm  by  a  deed  dated  six  years  before,  on  plea  of  moneys 
advanced,  and  Johnny  stood  only  as  manager. 

The  plaintiff  was  so  enraged  at  this  barefaced  scheme 
to  bar  Ms  just  claim,  Johnny's  bail  sureties  being  found 
equally  unsubstantial,  that  he  resolved  to  arrest  Johnny's 
person.  The  officers  arrived  at  Johnny's  house  to  sei-ve 
the  writ,  and  found  liim  sitting  at  his  luncheon  alone.  It 
was  a  fine  summer's  day,  —  everybody  was  out  in  the  fields 
at  the  hay.  Door  and  whidow  stood  open,  and  Johnny, 
who  had  been  out  on  some  business,  was  refreshing  him- 
self before  going  to  the  field  too.  The  officers  entering 
declared  him  their  prisoner.  "  Well,"  said  Johnny,  "  I 
know  that  very  well.  Don't  I  know  a  bum-baily  when 
I  see  him  ?  But  sit  down  and  take  something ;  I  'm 
hungry  if  you  ar'na,  at  all  events." 

The  men  gladly  sate  down  to  a  fine  piece  of  cold  beef, 
and  Johnny  said,  "  Come,  fill  your  glasses ;  I  '11  fetch 
another  jug  of  ale.  I  reckon  you  '11  not  give  me  a 
glass  of  ale  like  this  where  we  are  going." 

He  took  a  candle,  descended  the  cellar,  one  of  the 
officers  peeping  after  him  to  see  that  all  was  riglit,  and 
again  sitting  down  to  the  beef  and  beer.  Both  of  them 
found  the  beef  splendid ;  but  beginning  to  find  tlie  ale 
rather  long  in  making  its  appearance,  they  descended  the 
cellar,  and  found  Jolnniy  Darbyshire  had  gone  quietly 
off  at  a  back  door. 

Loud  was  the  laughter  of  the  countiy  round  at 
Johnny  Darbyshire's  outwitting  of  the  bailiffs,  and  des- 
perate was  their  quest  after  Uim.     It  was  many  a  day, 


198  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

liowever,  before  they  again  got  sight  of  lilm.  Wlien 
they  did,  it  was  on  his  own  licarth,  just  as  they  had 
done  at  first.  Not  a  soul  was  visible  but  himself. 
The  ofiicers  declared  now  that  they  would  make  sure 
of  him,  and  yet  drink  with  .him  too. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Johnny ;  "  and  draw  it 
yourselves,  too,  if  you  will." 

"  Nay,  I  will  go  down  with  you,"  said  one ;  "  my 
comrade  shall  wait  here  above." 

"  Good,"  said  Johnny,  lighting  a  candle. 

"  Now,  mind,  young  man,"  added  he,  going  hastily 
forwards  towards  the  cellar  stops,  — "  mind,  I  say, 
some  of  these  steps  are  bad.  It 's  a  dark  road,  and  ;— 
nay,  here  !  —  this  way,  —  follow  me  exactly." 

But  the  man  was  too  eager  not  to  let  Johnny  go  too 
far  before  him ;  he  did  not  observe  that  Johnny  went 
some  distance  round  before  he  turned  down  the  steps. 
There  was  no  hand-rail  to  this  dark  flight  of  stcp.s,  and 
he  walked  straight  over  into  the  opening. 

"  Hold  !  —  hold !  Heavens  !  the  man 's  gone,  —  did  n't 
I  tell  him!—" 

A  heavy  plunge  and  a  groan  announced  the  man's 
descent  into  the  cellar. 

"  Help  !  —  help  !  "  cried  Johnny  Darbyshire,  rushing 
wildly  into  the  room  above.  "  Tiie  man,  like  a  madman, 
has  walked  over  the  landing  into  the  cellar.  If  he  is  n't 
killed,  it 's  a  mercy.  Help  !  "  snatching  another  candle ; 
"  but  hold  —  take  heed  !  take  heed !  or  thou  'It  go  over 
after  him  !  " 

With  good  lighting,  and  careful  examination  of  the 
way,  the   oflBcer  followed.     Tiiey  found  the  other  man 


JOHNNY    DARBYSHIRE.  199 

lying  on  his  back,  bleeding  profusely  from  his  head,  and 
insensible. 

"  We  must  have  help  !  there  's  no  time  to  lose  !  " 
cried  Johnny  Darbyshire,  springing  up  stairs. 

"  Stop  I "  cried  the  distracted  officer,  left  with  his 
bleeding  fellow,  and  springing  up  the  steps  after  Johnny. 
But  he  found  a  door  already  bolted  in  his  face ;  and 
cursing  Johnny  for  a  treacherous  and  murderous  scoun- 
drel, he  began  vainly  denouncing  his  barbarity  in  leaving 
his  comrade  thus  to  perish,  and  kicked  and  thundered 
lustily  at  the  door. 

But  he  did  Johnny  Darbyshire  injustice.  Johnny  had 
no  wish  to  hurt  a  hair  of  any  man's  head.  The  officer 
had  been  eager  and  confident,  and  occasioned  his  own 
fall ;  and  even  now  Johnny  had  not  deserted  him.  He 
appeared  on  horseback  at  the  bam  where  threshers  were 
at  work  ;  told  them  what  had  happened  ;  gave  them  the 
key  of  the  cellar  door,  bade  them  off  and  help  all  they 
could  ;  and  said  he  was  riding  for  the  doctor.  The  doc- 
tor indeed  soon  came,  and  pronounced  the  man's  life  in 
no  danger,  though  he  was  greatly  scratched  and  bruised. 
Johnny  himself  was  again  become  invisible. 

From  this  time  for  nine  months  the  pursuit  of  Johnny 
Darbyshire  was  a  perfect  campaign,  full  of  stratagems, 
busy  marchings,  and  expectations,  but  of  no  surprises. 
House,  barns,,  fields,  and  woods,  were  successively  fer- 
reted through,  as  report  whispered  that  he  was  in  one 
or  the  other.  But  it  was  to  no  purpose;  not  a  glimpse 
of  him  was  ever  caught ;  and  fame  now  loudly  declared 
that  he  had  safely  transferred  himself  to  America.  Un- 
fortunately for  the  truth  of  tliiis  report,  which  had  be- 


200  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

come  as  well  received  as  the  soundest  piece  of  history, 
Johnny  Darbyshire  was  one  fine  moonlight  night  encoun- 
tered full  face  to  face,  by  some  poachers  crossing  the 
fields  near  his  house.  The  search  became  again  more 
active  than  ever,  and  the  ruins  of  Wingfield  Manor, 
which  stood  on  a  hill  not  far  from  his  dwelling,  were 
speedily  suspected  to  be  haunted  by  him.  These  were 
hunted  over  and  over,  but  no  trace  of  Johnny  Darby- 
shire,  or  any  sufficient  hiding-place  for  him,  could  be 
found,  till,  one  fine  summer  evenmg,  the  officers  were 
lucky  enough  to  hit  on  a  set  of  steps  which  descended 
amongst  bushes  into  the  lower  part  of  the  ruins.  Here, 
going  on,  they  found  themselves,  to  their  astonishment, 
in  an  ample  old  kitchen,  with  a  fire  of  charcoal  in  the 
grate,  and  Johnny  Darbyshire  with  a  friend  or  two  sit- 
ting most  cosily  over  their  tea.  Before  they  coidd  re- 
cover from  their  surprise,  Johnny,  however,  had  vanished 
by  some  door  or  window,  they  could  not  tell  exactly 
where,  for  there  were  sundry  doorways  issuing  into  dark 
places  of  which  former  experience  bade  them  beware. 
Rushing  up  agaui,  therefore,  to  the  light,  they  soon 
posted  some  of  their  number  around  the  ruins,  and,  with 
other  assistance  sent  for  from  the  village,  they  descended 
again,  and  commenced  a  vigilant  search.  This  had  been 
patiently  waited  for  a  good  while  by  those  posted  with- 
out, when  suddenly,  as  rats  are  seen  to  issue  from  a  rick 
when  the  ferret  is  in  it,  Johnny  Darbyshire  was  seen 
ascending  hurriedly  a  broken  staircase,  that  was  partly 
exposed  to  the  open  day  by  the  progress  of  dilapidation, 
and  terminated  abruptly  above. 

Here,  at  this  abrupt  and   dizzy  termination,  for  <he 


JOHNNY   DARBYSHIRE.  201 

space  of  half  a  minute,  stood  Johnny  Darbyshire,  looking 
round,  ag  if  calmly  surveying  the  landscape,  which  lay, 
with  all  its  greenness  and  ascending  smokes  of  cottage 
chimneys,  in  the  gleam  of  the  setting  sun.  Another  in- 
stant, and  an  officer  of  the  law  was  seen  cautiously 
scrambling  up  the  same  ruinous  path  ;  but,  when  he  had 
reached  within  about  half  a  dozen  yards  or  so  of  Johnny, 
he  paused,  gazed  upwards  and  downwards,  and  then  re- 
mained stationar}'.  Johnny,  taking  one  serious  look  at 
him,  now  waved  liis  hand  as  bidding  him  adieu,  and  dis- 
appeared in  a  mass  of  ivy. 

The  astonished  officer  on  the  ruined  stair  now  hastily 
retreated  downwards ;  the  watchers  on  the  open  place 
around  ran  to  the  side  of  the  building  where  Johnny 
Darbyshire  had  thus  disappeared,  but  had  scarcely 
reached  the  next  corner,  when  they  heard  a  loud  de- 
scent of  stones  and  rubbish,  and,  springing  forward,  saw 
these  rushmg  to  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  old  Manor, 
and  some  of  them  springmg  and  bounding  down  the  hill 
below.  What  was  most  noticeable,  however,  was  Johnny 
Darbyshire  himself,  lying  stretched,  apparently  lifeless, 
on  the  greensward  at  some  little  distance. 

On  examining  afterwards  the  place,  they  found  that 
Johnny  had  descended  between  a  double  wall,  —  a  way, 
no  doubt,  well  known  to  him,  and  thence  had  endeav- 
ored to  let  himself  down  tlie  wall  by  the  ivy  which 
grew  enormously  strong  there ;  but  the  decayed  state 
of  the  stones  had  caused  the  hold  of  the  ivy  to  give 
way,  and  Johnny  had  been  precipitated,  probably  from 
a  considerable  height.  He  still  held  quantities  of  leaves 
and  ivy  twigs  in  his  hands. 
9* 


202  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

He  was  conveyed  as  speedily  as  possible  on  a  door 
to  liis  own  house,  where  it  was  ascertained  by  the  sur- 
geon that  life  was  sound  in  him,  but  that  besides 
plenty  of  severe  contusions,  he  had  broken  a  thigh. 
When  this  news  reached  his  persecutor,  though  Joluniy 
was  declared  to  have  rendered  himself,  by  his  resistance 
to  the  officers  of  the  law,  liable  to  outlawry,  this  gen- 
tleman declared  that  he  was  quite  satisfied ;  that  Johnny 
was  punished  enough,  especially  as  he  had  been  visited 
with  the  very  mischief  he  liad  occasioned  to  the  mare. 
He  declhied  to  proceed  any  further  against  him,  paid 
all  charges  and  costs,  and  the  court  itself  thought  lit 
to  take  no  further  cognizance  of  the  matter. 

Johnny  was,  indeed,  severely  punished.  Por  nearly 
twelve  months  he  was  confined  to  the  house,  and  never 
did  his  indomitable  and  masterful  spirit  exhibit  itself  so 
strongly  and  characteristically  as  during  this  time.  He 
was  a  most  troublesome  subject  in  the  house.  As  he 
sate  in  his  bed,  he  ordered,  scolded,  and  ruled  with  a 
rod  of  iron  all  the  women,  including  his  wife  and 
daughter,  so  that  they  would  have  thought  the  leg  and 
the  confniement  nothing  to  what  they  had  to  suffer. 

He  at  length  had  himself  conveyed  to  the  sitting-room 
or  the  kitchen,  as  he  pleased,  in  a  great  easy -chair; 
but  as  he  did  not  satisfy  himself  that  he  was  sufficiently 
obeyed,  he  one  day  sent  the  servant-girl  to  fetch  him 
the  longest  scarlet -bean  stick  that  she  could  find  in  the 
garden.  Armed  with  this,  he  now  declared  that  he 
would  have  his  own  way,  —  he  could  reach  them  now ! 
And,  accordingly,  there  he  sate,  ordering  and  scolding, 
and,  if  not  f)roniptly  obeyed  in  his  most  extravagant 


JOHNNY   DABBYSHIRE.  203 

commands,  not  sparing  to  inflict  substantial  knocks  with 
Lis  pea-prick,  as  lie  called  it.  This  succeeded  so  well 
tliat  he  would  next  have  his  chair  carried  to  the  door, 
and  survey  the  state  of  things  without. 

"Ay,  he  knew  they  were  going  on  prettily.  There 
was  fiue  management,  he  was  sure,  when  he  was  thus 
laid  up.  He  should  ba  ruined,  that  was  certain.  O,  if 
he  could  but  see  the  ploughing  and  the  crops,  —  to  see 
how  they  were  going  on  would  make  the  heart  of  a 
stone  ache,  he  expected." 

His  son  was  a  steady  young  fellow,  and,  it  must 
be  known,  was  all  the  while  farming,  and  carrying  on 
the  business  much  better  than  he  himself  had  ever 
done. 

*'  But  he  would  be  with  them  one  of  these  days,  and 
for  the  present  he  would  see  his  stock  at  all  events." 

He  accordingly  ordered  the  whole  of  his  stock,  his 
horses,  his  cows,  his  bullocks,  his  sheep,  his  calves,  his 
pigs,  and  poultry,  to  be  all,  every  head  of  them,  driven 
past  as  he  sate  at  the  door.  It  was  like  another  naming 
of  the  beasts  by  Adam,  or  another  going  up  into  the 
Ark.  There  he  sate,  swaying  his  long  stick,  now  talking 
to  this  horse,  and  now  to  that  cow.  To  the  old  bull  he 
addressed  a  loug  speech;  and  every  now  and  then  he 
broke  oflF  to  rate  the  farm-servants  for  their  neglect  of 
things.  "  What  a  bag  of  bones  was  this  heifer !  What 
a  skeleton  was  that  horse !  Why,  they  must  have  been 
fairly  starved  on  purpose ;  nay,  they  must  have  been  in 
the  pinfold  all  the  time  he  had  beeu  laid  up.  But  lie 
would  teach  the  lazy  rogues  a  diiferent  lesson  as  soou 
as  he  could  get  about." 


204  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

And  the  next  thing  was  to  get  about  in  his  cart  with 
his  bed  laid  in  it.  In  this  he  rode  over  his  farm ;  and 
it  would  have  made  a  fine  scene  for  Fielding  or  Gold- 
smith, to  have  seen  all  his  proceedings,  and  heard  all 
his  exclamations  and  remarks,  as  he  surveyed  field  after 
field. 

"  What  ploughing !  what  sowing !  Why,  they  must 
have  had  a  crooked  plough,  and  a  set  of  bandy-legged 
horses,  to  plough  such  ploughing.  There  was  no  more 
straightness  in  their  furrows  than  in  a  dog's  hind  leg. 
And  then  where  had  the  man  flung  the  seed  to  ?  Here 
was  a  bit  come  up,  and  there  never  a  bit.  It  was  his 
belief  that  they  must  go  to  Jericho  to  find  half  of  his 
corn  that  had  been  flung  away.  What !  had  they  picked 
the  wmdiest  day  of  all  the  year  to  scatter  his  com  ou 
the  air  in  ?  And  then  the  drains  were  all  stopped ;  the 
land  was  drowning,  was  starving  to  death ;  and  where 
were  the  hedges  all  gone  to  ?  Hedges  he  left,  but  now 
he  only  saw  gaps  !  " 

So  he  went  round  the  farm,  and  for  many  a  day  did 
it  furnish  him  with  a  theme  of  scolding  in  the  house. 

Such  was  Johnny  Darbyshire;  and  thus  he  lived  for 
many  years.  We  sketch  no  imaginary  character,  we 
relate  no  invented  story.  Perhaps  a  more  perfect  speci- 
men of  the  shrewd  and  clever  man  converted  into  the 
local  and  domestic  tyrant,  by  having  too  much  of  his 
own  humor,  never  was  beheld ;  but  the  genus  to  which 
Johnny  Darbyshire  belonged  is  far  from  extinct.  In  the 
nooks  of  England  there  are  not  a  few  of  them  yet  to  be 
found  in  all  their  froward  glory ;  and  in  the  most  busy 
cities,  though  the  great  prominences  of  their  eccentrici- 


JOHNNY    DARBYSHIIIE. 


205 


ties  are  rubbed  off  by  daily  concussion  with  men  as  hard- 
headed  as  themselves,  we  see  gUmpses  beneath  the 
polished  surface  of  what  they  would  be  in  ruder  and 
custom-freer  scenes.  The  Johnny  Darbyshires  may 
be  said  to  be  instances  of  English  independence  run  to 
seed. 


THE   GRIDIRON. 


BY  SAMUEL  LOVER. 


CERTAIN  old  E^entleman  in  llie  west  of  Ireland, 
whose  love  of  tlie  ridiculous  quite  equalled  his 
taste  for  claret  and  fox-hunting,  was  wont,  upou 
festive  occasions,  when  opportunity  offered,  to  amuse  his 
friends  by  'drawing  out  one  of  his  servants,  exceedingly 
fond  of  wliat  he  termed  his  "  tliravels,"  and  in  whom,  a 
good  deal  of  whim,  some  queer  stories,  and  perhaps,  more 
than  all,  long  and  faithful  services,  had  established  a 
right  of  loquacity.  He  was  one  of  those  few  trusty  and 
privileged  domestics,  who,  if  his  master  unheedingly 
uttered  a  rash  thing  in  a  fit  of  passion,  would  venture 
to  set  him  right.  If  the  s,guire  said,  "I  '11  turn  that 
rascal  off,"  my  friend  Pat  would  say,  "  Troth  you  won't, 
sir  " ;  and  Pat  was  always  right,  for  if  any  altercation 
arose  upon  the  "  subject-matter  in  hand,"  he  was  sure  to 
throw  in  some  good  reason,  either  from  former  services, 
—  general  good  conduct,  —  or  the  delinquent's  "  wife  and 
children,"  that  always  turned  the  scale. 

But  I  am  digressing :  on  such  merry  meetings  as  I 
Lave  alluded  to,  the  master,  after  making  certain  "ap- 


THE   GRIDIRON.  207 

proaclies,"  as  a  military  man  would  say,  as  the  prepara- 
tory steps  in  laying  siege  to  some  extravaganza  of  his 
servant,  might,  perchance,  assail  Pat  thus :  "  By  the  by. 
Sir  John  (addressing  a  distinguished  guest),  Pat  has  a 
very  curious  story,  which  something  you  told  me  to-day 
reminds  me  of.  You  remember,  Pat  (turning  to  the 
man,  evidently  pleased  at  the  notice  thus  paid  to  him- 
self), —  you  remember  that  queer  adventure  you  had  in 
France  ?  " 

"  Troth  I  do,  sir,"  grins  forth  Pat. 

"  What !  "  exclaims  Sir  John,  m  feigned  surprise, 
"  was  Pat  ever  in  France  ?  " 

"  Indeed  he  was,"  cries  mine  host ;  and  Pat  adds, 
"Ay,  and  farther,  plaze  your  honor." 

"  I  assure  you.  Sir  John,"  continues  my  host,  "  Pat 
told  me  a  story  once  that  surprised  me  very  much,  re- 
specting the  ignorance  of  the  French." 

"  Indeed ! "  rejoined  the  baronet ;  "  really,  I  always 
supposed  the  French  to  be  a  most  accomplished  people." 

"  Troth,  then,  they  're  not,  sir,"  interrupts  Pat. 

"  O,  by  no  means,"  adds  mine  host,  shaking  his  head 
emphatically. 

"  I  believe,  Pat,  't  was  when  you  were  crossing  the 
Atlantic  ?  "  says  the  master,  turning  to  Pat  with  a  se- 
ductive air,  and  leaduig  into  the  "  full  and  true  account" 
—  (for  Pat  had  thought  fit  to  visit  North  Amerikay,  for 
"a  raison  he  had,"  in  the  autiunu  of  the  year  ninety- 
eight). 

"  Yes,  sir,"  says  Pat,  "  the  broad  Atlantic,"  —  a  favor- 
ite phrase  of  his,  which  he  gave  with  a  brogue  as  broad, 
almost,  as  the  Atlantic  itself. 


208  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

"It  was  the  time  I  was  lost  in  crassiu'  the  broad 
Atlantic,  a  comin'  home,"  began  Pat,  decoyed  into  the 
recital ;  "  whin  the  winds  began  to  blow,  and  the  sac  to 
rowl,  that  you  'd  think  the  Colleen  Dhas  (that  was  her 
name),  would  not  have  a  mast  left  but  what  would  rowl 
out  of  her. 

"  Well,  sure  enough,  the  masts  went  by  the  board,  at 
last,  and  the  pumps  were  choked  (divil  choke  them  for 
that  same),  and  av  coorse  the  water  gained  an  us ;  and 
troth,  to  be  filled  with  water  is  neither  good  for  man  or 
baste ;  and  she  was  sinkin'  fast,  settlin'  down,  as  the 
sailors  call  it ;  and  faith  I  never  was  good  at  settlin'  down 
in  my  life,  and  I  liked  it  then  less  nor  ever  ;  accordmgly 
we  prepared  for  the  worst  and  put  out  the  boat  and 
got  a  sack  o'  bishkits  and  a  cask  o'  pork,  and  a  kag 
o'  wather,  and  a  thrifle  o'  rum  aboord,  and  any  other 
little  matthers  we  could  think  iv  in  the  mortial  hurry 
we  wor  in, —  and  faith  there  was  no  time  to* be  lost, 
for,  my  darlint,  the  Colleen  Dhas  went  down  like  a  lump 
o'  lead,  afore  we  wor  many  sthrokes  o'  the  oar  away  from 
her. 

"  Well,  we  dhrifted  away  all  that  night,  and  next 
momin'  we  put  up  a  blanket  an  the  end  av  a  pole  as  well 
as  we  could,  and  then  we  sailed  iligant ;  for  we  dar  n't 
show  a  stitch  o'  canvas  the  night  before,  bckase  it  was 
blowin'  like  bloody  murther,  savin'  your  presence,  and 
sure  it 's  the  wondher  of  the  world  we  wor  n't  swally'd 
alive  by  the  ragiu'  sae. 

"  Well,  away  we  wint,  for  more  nor  a  week,  and  noth- 
in'  before  our  two  good-lookin'  eyes  but  the  canophy  iv 
Leaveu,  and  the  wide  ocean — the  broad  Atlantic  —  not 


THE    GRIDIRON.  209 

a  thing  was  to  be  seen  but  tlie  sae  and  the  sky;  and 
though  the  sae  and  the  sky  is  mighty  purty  things  in 
tliemselves,  throth  they  're  no  great  things  when  you  've 
nothiu'  else  to  look  at  for  a  week  together,  —  and  the 
barest  rock  in  the  world,  so  it  was  land,  would  be  more 
welkim.  And  then,  soon  enough,  tliroth,  our  provisions 
began  to  run  low,  the  bishkits,  and  the  wather,  and  the 
rum  —  throth  that  was  gone  first  of  all  —  God  help  uz  — 
and  oh !  it  was  thin  that  starvation  began  to  stare  us  in 
the  face,  — '  O,  murther,  murther,  Captain  darlint,'  says 
I,  '  I  wish  we  could  land  anywhere,'  says  I. 

"  *  More  power  to  your  elbow,  Paddy,  my  boy,'  says 
he,  '  for  sitch  a  good  wish,  aud  throth  it 's  myself  wishes 
the  same.* 

"  '  Och,'  says  I,  '  that  it  may  plaze  you,  sweet  queen 
iv  heaven,  supposing  it  was  only  a  dissolute  island,'  says 
I,  '  inhabited  wid  Turks,  sure  they  would  n't  be  such 
bad  Christians  as  to  refuse  us  a  bit  and  a  sup.' 

"'Wliisht,  whisht,  Paddy,'  says  the  captain,  'don't 
be  talking  bad  of  any  one,'  says  he ;  *  you  don't  know 
how  soon  you  may  want  a  good  word  put  in  for  yourself, 
if  you  should  be  called  to  quarthers  iji  th'  other  world 
all  of  a  suddiut,'  says  he. 

"'Thrue  for  you,  Captain  darlint,'  says  I  —  I  called 
him  darlint,  and  made  free  with  him,  you  see,  bekase 
disthress  makes  us  all  equal,  —  'thrue  for  you,  Captain 
jewel,  —  God  betune  uz  and  harm,  I  owe  no  man  any 
spite,  —  and  throth  that  was  only  thruth.  Well,  the  last 
bishkit  was  sarved  out,  and  by  gor  the  wather  itself  vih& 
all  gone  at  last,  and  we  passed  tlie  night  mighty  cowld ; 
well,  at  the  Drake  o'  day  the  sun  riz  most  beautifully  out 


210  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

o'  the  waves,  that  was  as  bright  as  silver  and  as  clear  as 
chrystal.  But  it  was  only  the  more  cruel  upon  us,  for 
we  wor  beginnin'  to  feel  terrible  hungry ;  when  all  at 
wanst  I  thought  I  spied  the  laud,  —  by  gor,  I  thought  I 
felt  my  heart  up  in  my  throat  in  a  miuit,  and  '  Thunder 
an'  turf.  Captain,'  says  I,  '  look  to  leeward,'  says  I. 

"  '  What  for  ? '  says  he. 

"  '  I  think  I  see  the  land,'  says  I.  So  he  ups  with  his 
bring-'em-near  (that 's  what  the  sailors  call  a  spy-glass, 
sir),  and  looks  out,  and,  sure  enough,  it  was. 

"  '  Hurra  ! '  says  he,  '  we  're  all  right  now ;  pull 
away,  my  boys,'  says  he. 

"  '  Take  care  you  're  not  mistaken,'  says  I ;  '  maybe 
it 's  only  a  fog-bank.  Captain  darlint,'  says  I. 

"  '  O  no,'  says  he,  '  it 's  the  laud  in  airnest.' 

"  '  O,  then,  whereabouts  in  the  wide  world  are  we.  Cap- 
tain ? '  says  I ;  *  maybe  it  id  be  in  Roosia,  or  Proosia,  or 
the  Garmant  Occant,'  says  I. 

" '  Tut,  you  fool,'  says  he,  for  lie  had  that  consaited 
way  wid  him  —  thinkin'  himself  cleverer  nor  any  one 
else  — '  tut,  you  fool,'  says  he,  '  that 's  France,'  says  he. 

" '  Tare  an  ouns,'  says  I,  '  do  you  tell  me  so  ?  and 
how  do  you  know  it 's  France  it  is,  Captain  dear,'  says  I. 

" '  Bekase  this  is  the  Bay  o'  Bishky  we  're  in  now,' 
says  he. 

"'Throth,  I  was  thinkin'  so  myself,'  says  I,  'by  the 
rowl  it  has ;  for  I  often  heerd  av  it  in  regard  of  that 
same  ;  and  throth  the  likes  av  it  I  never  seen  before  nor 
since,  and,  with  the  help  of  God,  never  will.' 

"  Well,  with  that,  my  heart  began  to  grow  light ;  and 
wlieu  I  seen  my  life  was  safe,  1  began  to  grow  twice 


THE   GRIDIRON,  211 

hungrier  nor  ever  —  so,  says  I,  '  Captain  jewel,  I  wish 
we  had  a  gridiron.' 

" '  Why,  then,'  says  he,  '  thunder  and  turf,'  says  he, 
'  what  puts  a  gridiron  into  your  head  ? ' 

"  '  Bekase  1  'm  starvin'  with  the  hunger,'  says  I. 

" '  And  sure,  bad  luck  to  you,'  says  he,  '  you  could  n't 
eat  a  gridiron,'  says  he,  '  barrin'  you  were  a  pelican  o' 
the  wildherness,'  says  he. 

"  *  Ate  a  gridiron,'  says  I,  '  och,  in  throth,  I  'm  not 
such  a  ffommoch  all  out  as  that,  anyhow.  But  sure,  if 
we  had  a  gridiron,  we  could  dress  a  beefstake,'  says  I. 

"  '  Arrah  !  but  where 's  the  beefstake  ? '  says  he. 

" '  Sure,  could  n't  we  cut  a  slice  aff  the  pork,'  says  I. 

" '  Be  gor,  I  never  thought  o'  that,'  says  the  captain. 
'  You  're  a  clever  fellow,  Paddy,'  says  he,  laughin'. 

"  '  O,  there  's  many  a  thrue  word  said  in  joke,'  says  I. 

" '  Tlirue  for  you,  Paddy,'  says  he. 

"'Well,  then,'  says  I,  'if  you  put  me  ashore  there 
beyant'  (for  we  were  nearin'  the  land  all  the  time),  'and 
sure  I  can  ax  them  for  to  luid  me  the  loan  of  a 
gridiron,'  says  I. 

"  '  O,  by  gor,  the  butther  's  comin'  out  o'  the  stirabout 
in  airnest  now,'  says  he,  '  you  gommoch,'  says  he,  '  sure 
I  told  you  before  that 's  France,  —  and  sure  they  're  all 
furriners  there,'  says  the  captain. 

" '  Well,'  says  I,  '  and  how  do  you  know  but  I  'm  as 
good  a  furriner  myself  as  any  o'  thim  ? ' 

"  •  What  do  you  mane  ? '  says  he. 

" '  I  mane,'  says  I,  '  what  I  towld  you,  that  I  'm  as 
good  a  furriner  myself  as  any  o'  thim.' 

" '  Make  me  sinsible,'  says  he. 


212  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

" '  By  dad,  maybe  that 's  more  nor  me,  or  greater  nor 
me,  could  do,'  says  I,  —  and  we  all  began  to  laugh  at 
him,  for  I  thought  I  would  pay  him  off  for  his  bit  o' 
consait  about  the  Garmant  Oceant. 

"'Lave  aff  your  humbuggin','  says  he,  'I  bid  you, 
and  tell  me  what  it  is  you  mane,  at  all  at  all.' 

"  '  Parly  voo  frongsay,'  says  I. 

" '  0,  your  humble  sarvant,'  says  he ;  '  why,  by  gor, 
you're  a  scholar,  Paddy.' 

"  'Throth,  you  may  say  that,'  says  I. 

" '  Why,  you  're  a  clever  fellow,  Paddy,'  says  the  cap- 
tain, jeeriu'  hke. 

" '  You  're  not  the  first  that  said  that,'  says  I, '  whether 
you  joke  or  no.' 

"  '  O,  but  I  'm  in  airnest,'  says  the  captain ;  '  and  do 
you  tell  me,  Paddy,'  says  he,  '  that  you  spake  Erinch  ? ' 

"  *  Parly  voofrongmy^  says  I. 

" '  By  gor,  that  bangs  Banagher,  and  all  the  world 
knows  Banagher  bangs  the  divil,  —  I  never  met  the  likes 
o'  you,  Paddy,'  says  he,  —  'pull  away,  boys,  and  put 
Paddy  ashore,  and  maybe  we  won't  get  a  good  bellyful 
before  long.' 

"  So,  with  that,  it  wos  no  sooner  said  nor  done,  — they 
pulled  away,  and  got  close  into  shore  in  less  than  no 
time,  and  run  the  boat  up  in  a  little  creek,  and  a  beau- 
tiful creek  it  was,  with  a  lovely  white  sthrand,  —  an  ille- 
gant  place  for  ladies  to  bathe  in  the  summer ;  and  out 
I  got,  —  and  it 's  stiff  enough  in  the  Hmbs  I  was,  afther 
bein'  cramped  up  in  the  boat,  and  perished  with  the 
cowld  and  hunger,  but  I  conthrived  to  scramble  on,  one 
way  or  t'  other,  tow'rds  a  little  bit  iv  a  wood  that  was 


THE   GRIDIRON.  213 

close  to  the  shore,  and  the  smoke  curlin'  out  W  it,  quite 
timptin'  like. 

" '  By  the  powdhers  o'  war,  I  'm  all  right,'  says  I, 
'there's  a  house  there,'  —  and  sure  enough  there  was, 
and  a  parcel  of  men,  women,  and  ehUdher,  ating  their 
dinner  round  a  table,  quite  convanient.  And  so  I  wint 
up  to  the  door,  and  I  thought  I  'd  be  very  civil  to  them, 
as  I  heerd  the  French  was  always  mighty  p'lite  intirely, 

—  and  I  thought  I  'd  show  them  I  knew  what  good 
manners  was. 

"  So  I  took  afF  my  hat,  and,  making  a  low  bow,  says 
I,  '  God  save  all  here,'  says  I. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  they  all  stapt  eating  at  wanst,  and 
began  to  stare  at  me,  and  faith  they  almost  looked 
me  out  of  countenance,  —  and  I  thought  to  myself,  it 
was  not  good  manners  at  all,  more  betoken  from  furri- 
ners  which  they  call  so  mighty  p'lite ;  but  I  never 
minded  that,  in  regard  o*  wantin'  the  gridiron ;  and  so 
says  I,  '  I  beg  your  pardon,'  says  I,  '  for  the  liberty  I 
take,  but  it 's  only  bein'  in  disthress  in  regard  of  eating,' 
says  I,  *  that  I  made  bowld  to  throuble  yez,  and  if  you 
could  lind  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiron,'  says  I,  'I'd  be 
entirely  obleeged  to  ye.' 

"  By  gor,  they  all  stared  at  me  twice  worse  nor  before, 

—  and  with  that,  says  I  (knowing  what  was  in  their 
minds),  '  Indeed  it 's  thrue  for  you,'  says  I,  *  I  *m  tat- 
thered  to  pieces,  and  God  knows  I  look  quare  enough, 

—  but  it's  by  raison  of  the  storm,'  says  I,  'which  dhruv 
ns  ashore  here  below,  and  we  're  all  starvin','  says  I. 

"  So  then  they  began  to  look  at  each  other  again  ;  and 
myself,  seeing  at  onee  dirty  thoughts  was  in  their  beads. 


214-  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

and  that  they  tuk  me  for  a  poor  beggar  coining  to  crave 
charity,  —  with  that,  says  I,  '  O,  not  at  all,'  says  I,  '  by 
no  manes,  —  we  have  plenty  of  mate  ourselves  there 
below,  and  we  '11  dhress  it,'  says  I,  '  if  you  would  be 
plased  to  lind  us  the  loan  of  a  gridiron,'  says  I,  makin'  a 
low  bow. 

"  Well,  sir,  with  that,  throth,  they  stared  at  me  twice 
worse  nor  ever,  and  faith  I  began  to  think  that  maybe 
the  captain  was  wrong,  and  that  it  was  not  France  at  all 
at  all ;  and  so  says  I,  '  I  beg  pardon,  sir,'  says  I,  to  a 
fine  ould  man,  with  a  head  of  hair  as  white  as  silver,  — 
'  maybe  I  'm  under  a  mistake,'  says  I,  '  but  I  thought  I 
was  in  France,  sir :  are  n't  you  furriners  ?  '  says  I,  — 
*  Parly  voo  frongsay  ?  ^ 

" '  We,  munseer,'  says  he. 

" '  Then  would  you  Hnd  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiron,' 
says  I,  '  if  you  plase  ? ' 

"  O,  it  was  thin  that  they  started  at  me  as  if  I  had 
seven  heads ;  and,  faith,  myself  began  to  feel  flushed  like 
and  onaisy,  —  and  so,  says  I,  makin'  a  bow  and  scrape 
agin,  '  I  know  it 's  a  liberty  I  take,  sir,'  says  I,  '  but  it 's 
only  in  the  regard  of  bein'  cast  away ;  and  if  you  plase, 
sir,'  says  I,  'parly  voo  frongsay  ?  * 

"  *  We,  munseer,'  says  he,  mighty  sharp. 

"  '  Then  would  you  lend  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiron ! ' 
says  I,  '  and  you  '11  obleege  me.' 

"  Well,  sir,  the  ould  chap  began  to  munseer  me ;  but 
the  devil  a  bit  of  a  gridiron  he  'd  gi'  me  ;  and  so  I  began 
to  think  they  wor  all  ncygars,  for  all  their  fine  manners ; 
and  throth  my  blood  begun  to  rise,  and  says  I,  '  By  my 
sowl,  if  it  was  you  was  in  distriss,*  says  I,  *  and  if  it 


THE    GRIDIRON.  216 

was  to  ould  Irelaud  you  kem,  it 's  not  only  the  gridiron 
they  'd  give  you,  if  you  axed  it,  but  something  to  put  an 
it,  too,  aad  the  drop  o'  dhriuk  iuto  the  bargain,  and  cead 
milefailte.' 

"Well,  the  word  cead  mile  faille  seemed  to  sthreck 
his  heart,  and  the  ould  chap  cocked  his  ear,  and  so  I 
thought  I  'd  give  him  another  offer,  and  make  him  sensi- 
ble at  last :  and  so  says  I,  wanst  more,  quite  slow,  that 
he  might  understand,  — '  Parly  —  voo  — frongsay,  muu- 
seer/ 

" '  We,  munseer,'  says  he. 

" '  Then  lind  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiron,'  says  I,  *  and 
bad  scram  to  you.' 

"  Well,  bad  win  to  the  bit  of  it  he  'd  gi'  me,  and  the 
ould  chap  begins  bowin'  and  scrapin',  and  said  some- 
thing or  other  about  a  long  tongs.* 

"  '  Phoo  !  —  the  divil  swape  yourself  and  your  tongs,' 
says  I,  '  I  don't  want  a  tongs  at  all  at  all ;  but  can't  you 
listen  to  raison,'  says  I,  — '  Parly  voo  frongsay  ? ' 

" '  We,  munseer.' 

" '  Then  lind  me  the  loan  of  a  gridiron,'  says  I,  '  and 
howld  your  prate.' 

"  Well,  what  would  you  think,  but  he  shook  his  old 
noddle  as  much  as  to  say  he  would  n't ;  and  so,  says  I, 
'  Bad  cess  to  the  Ukes  o'  that  I  ever  seen,  —  throth  if 
you  wor  in  my  counthry  it 's  not  that  away  they  'd  use 
you.  The  curse  o'  the  crows  an  you,  you  owld  sinner,' 
says  I,  '  the  divil  a  longer  I  '11  darken  your  door.' 

"  So  he  seen  I  was  vexed,  and  I  thought,  as  I  was 

*  Some  mystificatiou  of  Paddy's  touching  the  French 
n^entends. 


216  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

turnin'  away,  I  seen  him  begin  to  relint,  and  that  his 
conscience  throubled  him ;  and  says  I,  turnin'  back, 
'Well,  I'll  give  one  chance  more,  —  you  ould  thief, — 
are  you  a  Chrishthan  at  all  ?  are  you  a  furriner ! '  says 
I,  '  that  all  the  world  calls  so  p'lite  ?  Bad  luck  to  you, 
do  you  understand  your  own  language?  —  Parly  voo 
frongsay  ?  "  says  I. 

"  '  We,  munseer,'  says  he. 

'"Then,  thunder  an'  turf,'  says  I,  'will  you  lind  me 
the  loan  of  a  gridiron  ? ' 

"  Well,  sir,  the  devil  resave  the  bit  of  it  he  'd  gi'  me,  — 
and  so,  with  that,  the  '  curse  o'  the  hungry  an  you,  you 
ould  negarly  villain,'  says  I ;  *  the  back  o'  my  hand  and 
the  sowl  o'  my  foot  to  you,  that  you  may  want  a  grid- 
iron yourself  yit,'  says  I;  and  with  that  I  left  them 
there,  sir,  and  kern  away,  —  and,  in  throth,  it 's  often 
sense  that  I  thought  that  it  was  remarkable." 


THE  BOX  TUNNEL. 


BY  CHARLES  READE. 


HE  10.15  train  glided  from  Paddington,  May  7, 
1847.  In  tlie  left  compartment  of  a  certain 
y  first-class  carriage  were  four  passengers ;  of 
these,  two  were  worth  description.  The  lady  had  a 
smooth,  white,  delicate  brow,  strongly  marked  eyebrows, 
long  lashes,  eyes  that  seemed  to  change  color,  and  a 
good-sized  delicious  mouth,  with  teeth  as  white  as  milk. 
A  man  could  not  see  her  nose  for  her  eyes  and  mouth ; 
her  own  sex  could  and  would  have  told  us  some  non- 
sense about  it.  She  wore  an  unpretending  grayish  dress 
buttoned  to  the  throat  with  lozenge-shaped  buttons,  and 
a  Scottish  shawl  that  agreeably  evaded  color.  She  was 
like  a  duck,  so  tight  her  plain  feathers  fitted  her,  and 
there  she  sat,  smooth,  snug,  and  delicious,  with  a  book 
in  her  hand,  and  a  soupqon  of  her  wrist  just  visible  as 
she  held  it.  Her  opposite  neighbor  was  what  I  call  a 
good  style  of  man,  —  the  more  to  his  credit,  since  he 
belonged  to  a  corporation  that  frequently  turns  out  the 
worst  imaginable  style  of  young  men.  He  was  a  cavalry 
officer,  aged  twenty-five.     He  had  a  mustache,  but  not 

VOL.   IX.  10 


218  LITTLE   CLASSICS. 

a  very  repulsive  one ;  not  one  of  those  subnasal  pigtails 
on  which  soup  is  suspended  like  dew  on  a  shrub ;  it  was 
short,  thick,  and  black  as  a  coal.  His  teeth  had  not  yet 
been  turned  by  tobacco  smoke  to  the  color  of  juice,  his 
clothes  did  not  stick  to  nor  hang  to  him ;  he  had  an 
engaging  smile,  and,  what  I  liked  the  dog  for,  his  vanity, 
which  was  inordinate,  was'  in  its  proper  place,  his  heart, 
not  in  his  face,  jostling  mine  and  other  people's  who 
have  none,  —  in  a  word,  he  was  what  one  oftener  hears 
of  than  meets,  —  a  young  gentleman.  He  was  conversing 
in  an  animated  whisper  with  a  companion,  a  fellow- 
officer;  they  were  talking  about  what  it  is  far  better 
not  to  —  women.  Our  friend  clearly  did  not  wish  to  be 
overheard ;  for  he  cast  ever  and  anon  a  furtive  glance  at 
his  fair  vis-a-vis  and  lowered  his  voice.  She  seemed 
completely  absorbed  in  her  book,  and  that  reassured 
him.  At  last  the  two  soldiers  came  down  to  a  whisper 
(the  truth  must  be  told),  the  one  who  got  down  at 
Slough,  and  was  lost  to  posterity,  bet  ten  pounds  to 
three,  that  he  who  was  going  down  with  us  to  Bath  and 
immortality  would  not  kiss  either  of  the  ladies  opposite 
upon  the  road.  "  Done,  done  !  "  Now  I  am  sorry  a  man 
I  have  hitherto  praised  should  have  lent  himself,  even 
in  a  whisper,  to  such  a  speculation ;  "  but  nobody  is 
wise  at  all  hours,"  not  even  when  the  clock  is  strik- 
ing five  and  twenty;  and  you  are  to  consider  his  pro- 
fession, his  good  looks,  and  the  temptation  —  ten  to 
three. 

After  Slough  the  party  was  reduced  to  three ;  at  Twyl- 
ford  one  lady  dropped  her  handkerchief;  Captain  Dolig- 
uan  fell  on  it  like  a  lamb;  two  or  three  words  were 


THE    BOX   TUNNEL.  219 

iuterchanged  on  tliis  occasion.  At  Reading  the  Marl- 
borough of  our  tale  made  one  of  the  safe  investments 
of  that  day,  he  bought  a  Times  and  Punch ;  the  latter 
fuU  of  steel-pen  thrusts  and  woodcuts.  Valor  and 
beauty  deigned  to  laugh  at  some  inflamed  humbug  or 
other  punctured  by  Punch.  Now  laughing  together 
Ihaws  our  human  ice ;  long  before  Swindon  it  was  a 
talking  match  —  at  Swindon  who  so  devoted  as  Captain 
Dolignan?  —  he  handed  them  out  —  he  souped  them  —  he 
tough-chickencd  them  —  he  brandied  and  cochinealed 
one,  and  he  brandied  and  burnt-sugared  the  other;  on 
tlieir  return  to  the  carriage,  one  lady  passed  into  the 
inner  compartment  to  inspect  a  certain  gentleman's  seat 
on  that  side  of  the  line. 

Reader,  had  it  been  you  or  I,  the  beauty  would  have 
been  the  deserter,  the  average  one  would  have  stayed 
with  us  till  all  was  blue,  ourselves  included ;  not  more 
surely  does  our  slice  of  bread  and  butter,  when  it  es- 
capes from  our  hand,  revolve  it  ever  so  often,  alight 
face  downward  on  the  carpet.  But  this  was  a  bit  of 
a  fop,  Adonis,  dragoon,  —  so  Venus  remained  in  tete-a- 
tete  with  him.  You  have  seen  a  dog  meet  an  unknown 
female  of  his  species ;  how  handsome,  how  empresse, 
how  expressive  he  becomes ;  such  was  Dolignan  after 
Swindon,  and  to  do  the  dog  justice,  he  got  handsome 
and  handsomer ;  and  you  have  seen  a  cat  conscious  of 
approaching  cream,  —  such  was  Miss  Haythorn  ;  she 
became  demurer  and  demurer ;  presently  our  captain 
looked  out  of  the  window  and  laughed ;  tliis  elicited 
an  inquiring  look  from  Miss  Haythorn. 

"  We  are  only  a  mils  from  the  Box  Tunnel." 


220  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

"  Do  you  always  laugh  a  mile  from  the  Box  Tunuel  ?  " 
said  the  lady, 

"  Invariably." 

"What  for?" 

"  Wliy,  hem !  it  is  a  gentleman's  joke." 

Captain  Dolignan  then  recounted  to  Miss  Haythom 
the  following :  — 

"  A  lady  and  her  husband  sat  together  going  through 
the  Box  Tunnel,  —  there  was  one  gentleman  opposite ; 
it  was  pitch  dark :  after  the  tunnel  the  lady  said, 
'George,  how  absurd  of  you  to  salute  me  going 
through  the  tunnel.'  '  I  did  no  such  thing.'  '  You 
did  n't  ? '  *  No  !  why  ? '  *  Because  somehow  I  thought 
you  did ! ' " 

Here  Captain  Dolignan  laughed  and  endeavored  to 
lead  his  companion  to  laugh,  but  it  was  not  to  be  done. 
The  train  entered  the  tunnel. 

Miss  Haythom.   Ah ! 

Dolignan.   What  is  the  matter  ? 

Miss  Haythom.   I  am  frightened. 

Dolignan  (moving  to  her  side).  Pray  do  not  be 
alarmed ;  I  am  near  you. 

Miss  Haythom.  You  are  near  me,  —  very  near  me, 
indeed,  Captain  Dolignan. 

Dolignan.    You  know  my  name  ? 

Miss  Haythom.  I  heard  you  mention  it.  I  wish  we 
were  out  of  this  dark  place. 

Dolignan.  I  could  be  content  to  spend  hours  here,  re- 
assuring you,  my  dear  lady. 

Miss  Haythom.   Nonsense ! 

Dolignan.  Pwcep !     (Grave  reader,  do  not  put  your 


THE    BOX   TUNNEL.  221 

lips  to  the  next  pretty  creature  you  meet,  or  you  will 
understand  what  this  means.) 

Miss  Haythorn.   Ee !  Ee  ! 

Friend.   What  is  the  matter  ? 

Miss  Hai/thorn.   Open  the  door  !     Open  the  door  ! 

There  was  a  sound  of  hurried  whispers,  the  door  was 
shut  and  the  blind  pulled  down  with  hostile  sharp- 
ness. 

If  any  critic  falls  on  nfie  for  putting  inarticulate  sounds 
in  a  dialogue  as  above,  I  answer  with  all  the  insolence  I 
can  command  at  present.  "Hit  boys  as  big  as  your- 
self" ;  bigger,  perhaps,  such  as  Sophocles,  Euripides,  and 
Aristophanes ;  they  began  it,  and  I  learned  it  of  them, 
sore  against  my  will. 

Miss  Haythorn's  scream  lost  most  of  its  eflFect  because 
the  engine  whistled  forty  thousand  murders  at  the  same 
moment;  and  fictitious  grief  makes  itself  beard  when 
real  cannot. 

Between  the  tunnel  and  Bath  our  young  friend  had 
time  to  ask  himself  whether  his  conduct  had  been  marked 
by  that  dehcate  reserve  which  is  supposed  to  distin- 
guish the  perfect  gentleman. 

With  a  long  face,  real  or  feigned,  he  held  open  the 
door;  his  late  friends  attempted  to  escape  on  the  other 
side,  —  impossible  !  they  must  pass  him.  She  whom  he 
had  insulted  (Latin  for  kissed)  deposited  somewhere  at 
his  feet  a  look  of  gentle,  blushing  reproach ;  the  other, 
whom  he  had  not  insulted,  darted  red-hot  daggers  at  him 
from  her  eyes ;  and  so  they  parted. 

It  was,  perhaps,  fortunate  for  Dolignan  that  he  had 
the  grace  to  be  a  friend  to  Major  Hoskyns  of  his  regi- 


222  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

nieiit,  a  Teteran  laughed  at  by  the  youngsters,  for  the 
Major  was  too  apt  to  look  coldly  upon  billiard-balls  aud 
cigars ;  he  had  seen  cannon-balls  aud  linstocks.  He  had 
also,  to  tell  the  truth,  swallowed  a  good  bit  of  the  mess- 
room  poker,  which  made  it  as  impossible  for  Major  Hos- 
kyns  to  descend  to  an  ungentlemanlike  word  or  action 
as  to  brush  his  own  trousers  below  the  knee. 

Captain  Dolignan  told  this  gentleman  his  story  in 
gleeful  accents ;  but  Major  Hoskyns  heard  him  coldly, 
and  as  coldly  answered  that  he  had  known  a  man  to  lose 
his  life  for  the  same  thing. 

"  That  is  nothing,"  continued  the  Major,  "  but  unfor- 
tunately he  deserved  to  lose  it." 

At  this,  blood  mounted  to  the_  younger  man's  temples ; 
and  his  senior  added,  "  I  mean  to  say  he  was  thirty-five ; 
you,  I  presume,  are  twenty-one  !  " 

"  Twenty-five." 

"  That  is  much  the  same  thing ;  will  you  be  advised 
by  me?" 

"  If  you  will  advise  me." 

"Speak  to  no  one  of  this,  and  send  White  the  £3, 
that  he  may  think  you  have  lost  the  bet." 

"  That  is  hard,  when  I  won  it." 

"  Do  it,  for  all  that,  sir." 

Let  the  disbelievers  in  human  perfectibility  know  that 
this  dragoon  capable  of  a  blush  did  this  virtuous  action, 
albeit  with  violent  reluctance;  and  this  was  his  first 
damper.  A  week  after  tiicse  events  he  was  at  a  ball. 
He  was  in  that  state  of  factitious  discontent  wiiich 
belongs  to  us  amiable  English.  He  was  looking  in  vain 
for  a  lady,  equal  in  personal  attraction  to  the  idea  he  had 


THE    BOX   TUNNEL.  223 

formed  of  George  Dolignan  as  a  man,  when  suddenly 
there  glided  past  him  a  most  delightful  vision !  a  lady 
whose  beauty  and  symmetry  took  him  by  the  eyes, — 
another  look :  "  It  can't  be  !  Yes,  it  is  1 "  Miss  Hay- 
thorn  !  (not  that  he  knew  her  name !)  but  what  an  apoth- 
eosis ! 

The  duck  had  become  a  peahen  —  radiant,  dazzling, 
she  looked  l^ice  as  beautiful  and  almost  twice  as  large 
as  before.  He  lost  sight  of  her.  He  found  her  again. 
She  was  so  lovely  she  made  him  iU  —  and  he,  alone, 
must  not  dance  with  her,  speak  to  her.  If  he  had  been 
content  to  begin  her  acquaintance  the  usual  way,  it 
might  have  ended  in  kissing:  it  must  end  in  nothing. 
As  she  danced,  sparks  of  beauty  fell  from  her  on  all 
around,  but  him  —  she  did  not  see  him ;  it  was  clear  she 
never  would  see  him  —  one  gentleman  was  particularly 
assiduous  ;  she  smiled  on  his  assiduity ;  he  was  ugly, 
but  she  smiled  on  him.  Dolignan  was  surprised  at  his 
success,  his  ill  taste,  his  ugliness,  his  impertinence. 
Dohgnan  at  last  found  himself  injured;  "who  was  this 
man  ?  and  what  right  had  he  to  go  on  so  P  He  never 
kissed  her,  I  suppose,"  said  Dolle.  Dolignan  could 
not  prove  it,  but  he  felt  that  somehow  the  rights  of 
property  were  invaded.  He  went  home  and  dreamed 
of  Miss  Haythoni,  and  hated  all  the  ugly  successful. 
He  spent  a  fortnight  trying  to  find  out  who  his  beauty 
was, —  he  never  could  encounter  her  again.  At  last  he 
h3ard  of  her  in  this  way  :  A  lawyer's  clerk  paid  him  a 
little  visit  and  commenced  a  little  action  against  him  in 
in  the  name  of  Miss  Haythorn,  for  insulting  her  in  a 
railway  train. 


224  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

The  young  gentleman  was  shocked;  endeavored  to 
soften  the  lawyer's  clerk;  that  machine  did  not  thoroughly 
comprehend  tiie  meaning  of  the  term.  The  lady's  name, 
however,  was  at  last  revealed  by  this  untoward  mcident; 
from  her  name  to  her  address  was  but  a  short  step ;  and 
the  same  day  our  crestfallen  hero  lay  in  wait  at  her 
door,  and  many  a  succeeding  day,  without  effect.  But 
one  fine  afternoon  she  issued  forth  quite  naturally,  as  if 
she  did  it  every  day,  and  walked  briskly  on  the  parade. 
Doliguan  did  the  same,  met  and  passed  her  many  times 
on  the  parade,  and  searched  for  pity  in  her  eyes,  but 
found  neither  look  nor  recognition,  nor  any  other  senti- 
ment; for  all  this  she  walked  and  walked,  till  all  tiie 
other  promenaders  were  tired  and  gone,  —  then  her  cul- 
prit summoned  resolution,  and,  taking  off  his  hat,  with  a 
voice  for  the  first  time  tremulous,  besought  permission 
to  address  her.  She  stopped,  blushed,  and  neither  ac- 
knowledged nor  disowned  his  acquaintance.  He  blushed, 
stammered  out  how  ashamed  he  was,  how  he  deserved 
to  be  punished,  how  he  was  punished,  how  little  she 
knew  how  unhappy  he  was,  and  concluded  by  begging 
her  not  to  let  all  the  world  know  the  disgrace  of  a 
man  who  was  already  mortified  enough  by  the  loss  of  her 
acquaintance.  She  asked  an  explanation ;  he  told  her  of 
the  action  that  had  been  commenced  in  her  name ;  she 
gently  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said,  "  How  stupid 
they  are ! "  Emboldened  by  this,  he  begged  to  know 
whether  or  not  a  life  of  distant  unpreteudhig  devotion 
would,  after  a  lapse  of  years,  erase  the  memory  of  his 
madness  —  his  crime  ! 

"  She  did  not  know !  " 


THE    BOX    TUNNEL.  225 

"She  must  now  bid  him  adieu,  as  she  had  some 
preparations  to  make  for  a  ball  in  the  Crescent,  where 
everybody  was  to  be."  They  parted,  and  Doliguan  de- 
termined to  be  at  the  ball,  where  everybody  was  to  be. 
He  was  there,  and  after  some  time  he  obtained  an  in- 
troduction to  Miss  Haythorn,  and  he  danced  vnih  her. 
Her  manner  was  gracious.  With  the  wonderful  tact 
of  her  sex,,  she  seemed  to  have  commenced  the  ac- 
quaintance that  evening.  That  night,  for  the  first  time, 
Doliguan  was  in  love.  I  will  spare  the  reader  all  a 
lover's  arts,  by  which  he  succeeded  in  dining  where  she 
dined,  in  dancing  where  she  danced,  in  overtaking  her 
by  accident  when  she  rode.  His  devotion  followed  her 
to  church,  where  the  dragoon  was  rewarded  by  learning 
there  is  a  world  wliere  they  neither  polk  nor  smoke,  — 
the  two  capital  abominations  of  this  one. 

He  made  an  acquaintance  with  her  uncle,  who  liked 
him,  and  he  saw  at  last  with  joy  that  her  eye  loved  to 
dwell  upon  him,  when  she  thought  he  did  not  observe 
her.  It  was  three  months  after  the  Box  Tunnel  that 
Captain  Dolignan  called  oue  day  upon  Captain  Haythorn, 
K.  N.,  whom  he  had  met  twice  in  his  life,  and  slightly 
propitiated  by  violently  listening  to  a  cutting-out  ex- 
pedition ;  he  called,  and  in  the  usual  way  asked  permis- 
sion to  pay  his  addresses  to  his  daughter.  The  worthy 
Captain  straightway  began  doing  quarter-deck,  when 
suddenly  he  was  summoned  from  the  apartment  by  a 
mysterious  message.  On  his  return  he  announced  with 
a  total  change  of  voice,  that  "  It  was  all  right,  and  his 
visitor  might  run  alongside  as  soon  as  he  chose."  My 
reader  has  divined  the  truth ;  this  nautical  commander, 
10*  o 


226  LITTLE    CLASSICS. 

terrible  to  tlie  foe,  was  iu  complete  and  happy  subjuga- 
tion to  his  daugliter,  our  heroine. 

As  he  was  taking  leave,  Doljgnan  saw  his  divinity 
glide  into  the  drawing-room.  He  followed  her,  observed 
a  sweet  consciousness  deepen  into  confusion,  —  she  tried 
to  laugh,  and  cried  instead,  and  then  she  smiled  again ; 
when  he  kissed  her  hand  at  the  door  it  was  "  George  " 
and  "Marian"  instead  of  "Captain"  this  and  "Miss" 
the  other. 

A  reasonable  time  after  this  (for  my  tale  is  merciful 
and  skips  formalities  and  torturing  delays),  these  two 
were  very  happy;  they  were  once  more  upon  the  rail- 
road, going  to  enjoy  their  honeymoon  all  by  themselves. 
Marian  Dolignan  was  dressed  just  as  before,  —  duck -like 
and  delicious ;  all  bright  except  her  clothes  ;  but  George 
sat  beside  her  this  time  instead  of  opposite ;  and  she 
drank  him  in  gently  from  her  long  eyelashes. 

"  Marian,"  said  George,  "  married  people  should  tell 
each  other  all.  Will  you  ever  forgive  me  if  I  own  to 
you ;  no  —  " 

"  Yes !  yes  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  you  remember  the  Box  Tunnel."  (This 
was  the  first  allusion  he  had  ventured  to  it.)  "I  am 
ashamed  to  say  I  had  £  3  to  £  10  with  White  1  would 
kiss  one  of  you  two  ladies,"  and  George,  pathetic  exter- 
nally, chuckled  within. 

"  I  know  that,  George ;  I  overheard  you,"  was  the 
demure  reply. 

"  Oh  !  you  overheard  me  !  impossible." 

"  And  did  you  not  hear  me  whisper  to  my  companion  P 
I  made  a  bet  with  her." 


THE    BOX    TUNNEL.  227 

"  You  made  a  bet !  how  singular !     Wliat  "was  it  ?  " 

"  Ouly  a  pair  of  gloves,  George." 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  but  what  about  it  ?  " 

"  That  if  you  did  you  should  be  my  husband,  dearest," 

"  Oh !  but  stay ;  then  you  could  not  have  been  so 
very  angry  with  me,  love.  Why,  dearest,  then  you 
brought  that  action  against  me?" 

Mrs.  Dolignau  looked  down. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  were  forgetting  me  !  George,  you 
will  never  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  Sweet  angel !  why,  here  is  the  Box  Tunnel !  " 

Now,  reader,  —  fie  !  no !  no  such  thing !  you  can't 
expect  to  be  indulged  in  this  way  every  time  we  come 
to  .  a  dark  place.  Besides,  it  is  not  the  thing.  Con- 
sider, two  sensible  married  people.  No  such  phenome- 
non, I  assure  you,  took  place.  No  scream  in  hopeless 
rivalry  of  the  engine  —  this  time ! 


Cainbrid;;e :  Elfctimyped  aii'l  I'riiitetl  by  Welch,  Bi^'elow,  &  Ca 


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